


Gotham Ghoul

by SapphyWatchesYouSleep (Sapphy)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Bruce Has Issues, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Neglect, Crack, Dark Past, Developing Relationship, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Don't Have to Know Canon, Dysfunctional Family, Families of Choice, Family Drama, Kidnapping, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Underage, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resurrected Jason Todd, Team as Family, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Trauma, Unconventional Families, Vore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphy/pseuds/SapphyWatchesYouSleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason thought being put together out of spare parts meant he was the world's only human-ghoul hybrid. That was, until a child turned up on the Manor doorstep claiming to be Bruce's son.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>A Tokyo Ghoul AU</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've started watching Tokyo Ghoul, and mostly what I took away from the experience was that the world would mesh really well with Gotham. You absolutely do not need to know Tokyo Ghoul to enjoy this ridiculousness, and for those of you who don't, here's a quick rundown of the terms used that you might not know.
> 
> Ghoul - a species which lives among humans, and is similar to them except for three things. 1) they can only eat human flesh. 2) when feeding or hungry their eyes turn black, with red irises. 3) they have kagune (moreon that below). Humans know they exist, but since they can pass for humans, it's very hard to identify them. They have an excellent sense of smell, can heal most wounds easily and their skin cannot be cut by most blades.
> 
> Kagune - described in Tokyo Ghoul canon as 'the predatory organ of the ghouls' this is an inbuilt weapon, unique to each ghoul. They can be withdrawn into the body, and when out, take the form of a weapon, armour, tentacles or wings, depending on the ghoul. Jason's forms sword like blades over his hands, and Damian's form wings. Many ghoul hunters make weapons out of dead ghoul's kagune, since it's the only thing which can cut a ghoul's skin.
> 
> Scrappers - humans kept as slaves by some ghouls and forced to fight to the death for entertainment. The loser is then eaten by the spectators in a kind of fusion of restaurant and Roman Colosseum. Notably in Gotham, the Iceburg Lounge hosts these kind of fights/dinners.
> 
> Masks - in Tokyo Ghoul, ghouls wear masks whenever they're dealing with humans to keep the police from identifying their faces. This is a habit Jason has adopted, but not all of the Gotham Ghouls wear one, which will be explained more in future chapters.
> 
> And a note for gothamites:
> 
> Tally Man - I've combined Zsasz and Tally Man in this universe, since ghouls are pretty much never known by their real names (since that would make it easy for police etc to track them). I've never liked Tally Man, and I couldn't think of a better code-name for Zsasz, so I've smooshed them into one person.
> 
> I think those are the only things you need to know, but hit me up in the comments if there's anything else you want to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for murder, a foiled rape attempt and Bruce generally being a bit rubbish.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a familiar voice said behind him, just as Jason was about to go for the bite.

Growling, he slammed his prey’s head into the wall to keep her from running and snapped his mask back into place, turning to face the unsmiling form of Red Robin.

“Why? Because it’s wrong? Because the big bad Bat will stop my allowance if I do?”

“No,” the replacement said, unmoved by his anger. “Because she’s a heroin addict. Crane’s been doing some studies on the effects of human drugs on Ghoul systems, and from what I’ve decoded so far from his notes, it’s nothing good.”

Jason blinked, glad the mask was hiding his expression. “You worried about me, Replacement?”

The replacement shrugged. “You’re a Bat. We look out for our own.”

Jason couldn’t hold back an honest to goodness snarl at that. “I haven’t been a Bat since B left me to get eaten by that monster. Bats fight ghouls, remember?”

The replacement just looked at him, mouth expressionless and eyes hidden behind glass lenses.

“Fine,” Jason said eventually, just to get the kid’s creepy stare off him. “I won’t eat any heroin addicts. Happy now?”

The replacement shrugged again. “I’m a Bat. We’re not supposed to be happy. But I’m glad you’re being sensible.”

He turned, as though about to leave, then at the last moment turned back. “By the way, Dick wants to see you.”

And then he was gone, grapnel line sucking him up into the darkness where even Jason’s eyes couldn’t follow.

He gave his former prey a half-hearted kick in the ribs. It wasn’t like he liked eating junkies, but it was frustrating after he went to the trouble of catching this one.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dick was waiting for him on the roof of what had once been Jason’s favourite burger place. It was where they always met, and he thought Dick is was probably trying to bring back happy memories, but nowadays the smell just made him nauseous.

“Replacement said you wanted to see me,” he said, landing silently on the roof beside Dick.

“Don’t call him that,” Dick said, but it sounded almost like a reflex. The name didn’t have the same venom in it as it did when Jason first came back to Gotham. It was more a habit than anything. “You look pale, have you been eating?”

Jason snorted. “You’re trying to stop me from eating, remember? The more starved I get, the happier you should be.”

Dick looked genuinely upset at the very suggestion. “I do not! Jason, I want you to look after yourself. I just want you to do it without killing anyone. Wayne Industries have been producing some excellent flesh substitutes…”

“They taste like shit,” Jason said bluntly, before remembering he hadn’t been going to tell anyone he’d even opened the packet Dick had pressed into his hands on patrol one night.

“Okay, well, how about you speak to Bruce about that, give some feedback? I don’t know if there were any ghouls on the taste team…”

“There weren’t, because it tastes like shit,” Jason said sharply. “It actually managed to taste worse than human food, which is a fucking achievement, believe me.”

Dick’s face fell. “It’s such a shame you can’t eat real food anymore,” he said sadly. “I miss going for breakfast with you after patrol.”

“You’re always welcome to join me for my breakfast,” Jason said nastily. “I haven’t had anything to eat yet, since Replacement interrupted my meal. Tell you what, I’ll even let you pick, how about that? It’ll be just like old times.”

Dick looked a little green, and Jason almost felt bad for a moment until he remembered how the family had reacted to his resurrection.

“I didn’t call you here to argue,” Dick said, obviously getting annoyed with Jason’s mockery. “I need your help.  _We_ need your help.”

“Really? So why is it you’re the one here talking to me? If Bruce wants my help, he can damn well ask me himself.”

“He wanted to,” Dick said bluntly. “I persuaded him that in the circumstances, it might not be the best thing. I figured you’d at least hear me out before you punched me.”

That sort of faith made him want to prove Dick wrong, to hit him and disappear into the night to get some dinner, but he was intrigued to know what was so awful that Bruce was asking for his help, of all people. “What’s he want?”

Dick smiled at him. “Thanks Jay. So, you remember Bruce and Talia had that… thing, a while back. Before he knew she was a ghoul.”

Jason laughed. “I remember. It may actually be the stupidest thing he’s ever done, and that’s fucking saying something.”

“Yes well, I’d have to agree there, because three days ago a child turned up on the Manor doorstep. Hers and Bruce’s child.”

Jason stilled. “Don’t be ridiculous. Humans and Ghouls can’t…”

“Apparently they can, with enough science. It was the practice she got making the kid that taught her enough to bring you back, incidentally. But yeah, Bruce checked the kid’s DNA. Human Ghoul hybrid. And Talia’s left the kid with him.”

“Wait, Bruce is raising a half Ghoul child? Really? Oh man, that is fucking priceless! Has he been bitten yet?”

“Twice,” Dick said miserably, and Jason couldn’t contain himself any longer. He burst out into peals of laughter so forceful he nearly fell off the roof.

“Oh I fucking love Talia sometimes,” he gasped out. “Oh my God, this is going to be a disaster! Bruce raising a baby Ghoul? This is going to end in so much fiery death!”

“I’d be disturbed at how happy you are, except you’d have thought that was hilarious back when you were Robin too,” Dick said, with a funny sort of half smile. “Anyway, you’ll get the chance to witness the disaster up close. Bruce is so desperate that he’s actually asking for your help, since you’re the only ghoul he knows who isn’t a supervillain.”

Jason wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended at that. Sure he liked to think of himself as being on the side of good, but on the other hand, he did eat a lot of people. “And what makes him think I’ll be willing?”

“Well,” Dick said, “if seeing Bruce try and cope with Damian (that’s the kids name, Damian. Tim insists he’s named after the evil child from the Omen movies) isn’t enough of an incentive, I got Bruce to agree that the time you spend helping with the kid will be exchanged for time without Bat interference in your territory.”

Jason’s eyes widened. “And he agreed? My God, the kid must be really awful!”

Dick laughed dryly. “Oh, you have no idea.”

 

* * *

 

 

The kid looked creepily like Bruce. If Jason didn’t know better, he’d have thought he was a clone.

His manner though was all Talia.

“So you’re mother’s experiment?” was the first thing he said upon meeting Jason. “I had expected something more impressive.”

“What, something more like you, shrimp?” Jason asked, grinning at the kid. “Can you even use your kagune yet?”

“Yes!” Seeing the kid angry was hilarious, he puffed himself up like a cat, almost vibrating with offended pride. “And I could beat you into the ground, halfbreed.”

Jason sighed, and stood up straight. “Care to prove it?” he asked casually.

“Jason what are you…”Bruce began, but he stopped speaking when Jason held up a hand to silence him.

“I know what I’m doing Bruce, stay out of this. Though you are more than welcome to watch if you want. You never know, you might learn something.”

“Learn what a loser you are, you mean?” Damian scoffed, and Jason grinned at him.

“Put your money where your mouth is, small fry.”

“Fine, I will fight you. But I accept no responsibility for any injuries you sustain.”

Jason laughed. “Likewise. Shall we do this outside? From what I remember, the training rooms aren’t designed for kagune fights.”

“As long as it isn’t the rose garden,” Alfred said mournfully. “I’ve just had them pruned.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, they squared off against each other on the big lawn at the back of the house, where there was plenty of space and the only thing likely to be damaged was the grass and themselves.

Bruce was watching of course, along with Dick, and the replacement, who was filming the whole thing to show the girls later.

Jason did his best not to grin when the kid actually bowed to him before they start. If Bruce hadn’t been watching he’d have attacked there and then, but he didn’t want the hassle of a lecture on honour from the man, so he gave a perfunctory bow in return before unleashing his kagune. It flowed down his arms, warm and pulsing with energy, and formed into the blades Talia had chosen for him.

Damian, it turned out, hadn’t been lying about being able to utilise his own kagune. It took the form of wings, huge in comparison to his small body, that burned like vivid blue flames, the outer edges almost invisible in the sunlight.

“Pretty,” Jason said with a nasty smile. “Like a little angel.”

“Fuck you,” Damian said, kagune flaring behind him as he leapt forward, going for a punch.

It was clearly a test, and Jason ducked it easily, not even bothering to retaliate. The less he gave away about his style at that point, the better. Damian was young, but he’d been trained from birth by some of the most dangerous ghouls in the world, and Jason wasn’t stupid enough to underestimate him.

“That the best you got?” he asked, grinning.

“Tt. I’ve barely begun,” Damian retorted, as he brought one of his kagune forward in a slashing attack. Jason blocked it with his forearm, throwing up sparks of red and blue light.

“Pretty,” he heard Dick remark, somewhere behind him. “Like fireworks.”

Damian was a clever fighter, taking his time to learn his opponent’s moves and making use of his small size. He had to have even less stamina than an average wing type, but his lightness and size meant he’d got even more speed, and Jason quickly realised there was no way he could keep up. Instead, he planted his feet firmly and waited for the kid to come to him.

A more experienced opponent might have hung back, tried to draw him out, but Damian was young and angry and thought he had something to prove, so he flung himself at Jason, leaving himself wide open for an attack.

Bruce cried out as though it was him who’d been stabbed when Jason’s kagune punched down through the kid’s shoulder, and Jason glanced up briefly to see Red Robin holding him back. His opinion of the replacement was improving daily. The kid was practical, and apparently ruthless as fuck, since he didn’t seem bothered by watching a child, even a ghoul child, get stabbed.

Jason crouched down so he could look the kid square in the eye, and said, “Next time, don’t get so angry. It made you stupid.” He pulled back his kagune, and licked the blood from it. It was an interesting taste, more ghoul than human but something of both, and he knew his mouth was smeared with blood when he grinned at the kid. “I’ve got your scent now. Don’t forget that. You hunt in my territory, I’ll fucking know it.”

Damian frowned at him. “I am not a philistine,” he said, annoyed. The wound in his shoulder was already starting to heal up, and he seemed more confused than pained. “I would not do such a thing unless I wished to claim it for myself.”

Jason nodded his understanding. “In that case, I think we’ll be able to work together.” He held out a hand and after a moment Damian took it. He hauled him to his feet and patted his shoulder. “Nice to meet you Damian.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You tried to kill my son!” Bruce yelled as soon as they were away from Damian. Not out of earshot most likely, not for one of Talia’s family, but Jason didn’t bother to say so. This wasn’t private.

“No, if I’d tried to kill him, he’d be dead. I just stabbed him.”

“Just stabbed him?!”

Jason closed his eyes and silently prayed to any being who happened to be listening, divine or demonic, to grant him patience. “He’s a ghoul Bruce. You might not like it, but your son is not human. He could take a hell of a lot more punishment than that, and probably already has from what I know of Talia’s teaching methods. He was healed up in minutes, and he barely even flinched.”

Bruce sagged a little. “Seeing him hurt like that…”

“You really need to stop thinking of him as human. Do that, and you’re probably going to get eaten. Remember how much I used to eat when I hit a growth spurt? Damian’s going to be like that, but with flesh, and if you let your guard down there’s a pretty high chance you’ll be on the menu.”

Bruce shook his head sharply. “No, Damian wouldn’t…”

“Oh, Damian would. He might seem harmless now, but you wait until the hunger gets him. It’ll be like sharing houseroom with the Joker.”

“He’s not a monster,” Bruce said, voice tight and hands clenching into fists. “He’s my son.”

“He’s your son, _and_ he’s a monster,” Jason corrected angrily. This was all hitting a little too close to home, and he had to dig his nails into his palms hard enough to make them bleed to keep his composure. “He was raised by the League. Maybe one day it’ll be different, but right now? He thinks like a ghoul. That’s why I had to stab him, and if you’ve got any sense you’ll do that same. He thinks like Talia taught him to think, and that means he will only respect you if he knows you’re stronger than him. I had to hurt him, or he’d never listen to me. If you want to help your son, you’re going to have to learn to accept that he isn’t human.”

Behind his mask, tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he was painfully grateful for the hood hiding his face. So many of the things he was staying were things he’d been trying to tell Bruce ever since he’d come back to Gotham, and he’d given up on any hope of Bruce ever seeing his side of things a long-ass time ago, but it still hurt to say them out loud.

Bruce said nothing, just watched him silently, and Jason sighed. “Whatever. Don’t know why I expected to get through to you this time. I’m going to go tell Ivy about the kid.”

“Why?” Bruce asked, and to his credit he didn’t sound angry, just interested, and he hadn’t made a move to stop Jason.

“Because Bats cross territory all the time, and a strange ghoul’s scent appearing in someone’s territory without warning or explanation is going to end up resulting in a full on turf war,” Jason said, annoyed that he even had to explain. Bruce should have known this shit, he was the Batman. But then, Jason reminded himself, Bruce didn’t care about understanding Ghouls, only stopping them.

“I’m not taking him on patrol,” Bruce said, but he didn’t stop Jason leaving. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

One of the things that had always fascinated Jason about normal humans is how damn careless they were with their own lives. Robinson park had been Ivy’s territory for as long as he could remember, and yet he passed three couples on his way along the winding paths, cuddled together in the moonlight as though there was no chance they’d get devoured. Sure he’d taken refuge in the park plenty of times when he was homeless, but everyone knew Ivy didn’t touch kids. It was one of the reasons Jason liked her best of the powerful ghouls of Gotham.

On the edge of the park he stopped to slit open his palm, letting the scent of his blood waft on the night air, letting Ivy know he was coming. She’d have smelled him anyway, her senses were sharp even for a ghoul, but it was good manners to give her formal warning. The Gotham Ghouls banded together against threats, despite their constant in-fighting, and he wasn’t nearly powerful enough to risk a war, so, for the time being, he played nice with them. (Even if he did eventually manage to take the city, he’d leave Ivy her park. She mostly only ate would-be rapists, and left the innocent to their own devices, trusting them to do the same. The only time she took innocent life is when her own existence was threatened, which Jason considered reasonable.)

She was waiting for him in a clearing near the centre of the park, sitting on a bench with her legs folded, staring up at the stars.

“Ivy,” Jason said, nodding to her.

She looked at him and smiled. “Hood. What brings you to my humble abode? Not trouble I hope?”

“Not sure,” Jason told her honestly. “Batman has a new protégé.”

“How nice for him. He does so like collecting them. But what has this to do with me?”

“The kid’s a ghoul, or part of one at least.”

The feigned relaxation in Ivy’s face vanished, replaced by sharp interest. “Part of one? I’d heard rumours about human ghoul hybridization experiments, but I’d understood you were the only result.”

“Apparently not. The kid was created by the league, and I don’t know how, but he’s definitely half and half. Born half and half too, not a chop job like me.”

“I see. You’ve met the child?”

Everyone, or at least every important ghoul, knew Jason used to be a Robin. Joker had recognised his scent the moment he’d arrived back in Gotham, even through the cologne he’d used to try and mask it. In peaceful times, he’d been known to act as a sort of go-between between the Bats and the Ghouls, negotiating the occasional temporary peace treaty. (They were always broken in the end, usually by Joker, but they bought a little breathing room for both sides.)

“Sparred with him. He’s good. Young, but he’s got full control of his kagune.”

“My my, how interesting. And Batman is using him you say?”

“He says not, but it’s only a matter of time. And the kid seems like the wandering kind. I just wanted everyone to know he might turn up, so there’s no confusion.”

“Very kind of you,” Ivy said, with a smile. He’d always wondered if she remembered him from his childhood. She was so much nicer to him than the rest of the family. But then maybe that was because he treated her with more respect than the others did. If she did remember him, she’d never said so, or made any attempt to discover his identity. “I must tell Jonathan, he’ll be fascinated.”

“And it’ll annoy the Riddler enormously if you tell Scarecrow before him,” Jason said, smiling. He disliked the Riddler, though the guy ate almost nothing and kept things in his sector peaceful. He was just so irritatingly smug.

“That is always a bonus,” Ivy agreed serenely. “It was really very sweet of you to come and tell me, Hood. Can I at least offer you dinner before you leave?”

Hunting there would mean removing his mask in front of her, but refusing an offer to hunt in someone else’s territory would have been unpardonably rude. It was a rare privilege only very occasionally extended, and refusal could well end in the breakdown of relations between their sectors.

“I could eat,” he said with a shrug.

“Lovely.” Ivy stood fluidly, her vine-like tentacle kagune unwinding themselves from the bench. Jason had always been fascinated by them. They were long and very delicate, pulsing the vivid green of growing things, and they seemed to have a mind of their own. Ivy rarely concealed them, and they wrap themselves around any object she touched for more than a few moments, twining like real brambles. Jason sometimes wondered if she’d eventually take root if she sat in one place long enough. “I believe I heard a cry for help coming from this direction.”

Ivy was right about the crying. They found the source less than a minute’s run away from the clearing, a girl of not more than seventeen, pinned to the ground by the weight of a much larger, much older man.

Jason had a particular abhorrence for rapists. It had happened to far too many of the women and girls he’d know on the street, and it was something he took far more personally than simple murder.

Still, he hung back, letting Ivy move in for the kill.

Her kagune caught the man, wrenching him back and up, away from the sobbing girl. The sharp scent of blood filled the air as the man’s flesh was pierced by a thousand needle-sharp thorns, and he yelled, wild and incoherent with pain.

The girl wasn’t moving, watching the scene with wide terrified eyes, frozen with shock and fear. Jason crouched down beside her, inhaling her scent to check for wounds. She was bleeding a little, but not seriously enough that he needed to abandon his meal to take her to the hospital.

“You need to get out of here,” he told her, keeping his voice low and calm. “Is there someone you can call?”

“My brother,” she gasped out between sobs. “He always… My brother.”

“Okay, that’s good. You got your phone?” She groped blindly in her pocket and then nodded at him. “Alright. If you follow that path there, you’ll come out by the playground. Go and sit on the swings or something and call your brother to come pick you up. You need to go to a hospital, okay?”

She nodded again, still crying but calmer now. No doubt she’d fall to pieces again later, but for the moment her survival instincts have kicked in.

“Off you go,” he said, as kindly as he could. “You don’t want to watch this.”

Miraculously, she went, unsteady by determined, and Jason breathed out a sigh of relief and turned back to Ivy.

“If you’re all done playing hero, you going to come help me with this?” she asked, a note of amusement in her voice.

“And miss the opportunity to watch you work?” Jason asked, grinning at her from behind his mask.

It was only half flattery. He took every chance he got to watch the Gotham Ghouls, learn their strengths and weaknesses, and he took a particular pleasure in watching Ivy’s perfect control of her kagune. It was beautiful to watch, the delicacy with which she manipulated the deadly weapons.

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug, and ripped the rapist’s head clean off.

It was quick and efficient, no unnecessary brutality, and that was another thing Jason liked about Ivy. She was ruthless, but she wasn’t cruel. She killed only those who needed to be killed, and she did it quickly and cleanly. Even back when he was a human, he’d never completely understood why Bruce classed her in the same category as monsters like Tallyman and Joker.

“Since you’re the guest, you get first pick,” she told him, her kagune butchering the corpse as she spoke. “What bit do you want?”

“Heart,” Jason said at once. It was his favourite, and a treat he didn’t often allow himself. He tried to mete out punishments fitting to the crime, and mostly that ended in him just taking a limb, or an eye. Internal organs were a rare treat.

Ivy plucked out the heart and held it out to him, glistening red and white in the moonlight.

It was rich and meaty, the man’s bad diet giving the muscle a fatty creaminess. It had been a long time since he’d had anything as good, and he forced himself to go slow, not swallow the whole thing down in two bites.

“So how’s Batman getting along with his new charge?” Ivy asked casually as they ate.

Jason snorted. “It’s a disaster. He doesn’t seem to want to believe the kid isn’t human. He yelled at me for stabbing the boy in the shoulder when we sparred, and then nearly punched me when I pointed out if he doesn’t sort some meat out, the boy’s going to end up taking a chunk out of him.”

Ivy shook her head. “If he allows himself to be eaten by the kid, Joker is never going to shut up about it.”

“He’s always been bitten three times according to Nightwing,” Jason said, grinning.

Ivy laughed. “How are the other Robins taking it? I can’t imagine they’re very happy at having a cuckoo in the nest?”

“Nightwing is in nearly as much denial as Batman, and Red Robin seems to think it’s all hilarious. He’s been following the kid around with a video camera, filming everything he does so he can show Batgirl.”

Ivy shook her head. “He’s an odd one. Never been the same since Penguin got him.”

“Penguin kidnapped Red Robin?” Jason asked, intrigued. He hadn’t heard that story, but he can’t imagine it ended well for Penguin.

“Not his greatest plan,” Ivy said. “Can I help you to a little more? A leg perhaps? Or more organs?”

“Liver please,” Jason said, holding out his hand to take it from her. “What happened?”

“He wanted to train him as a scrapper,” Ivy said, and Jason stared at her. “Well you’ve got to admit on paper at least it’s a sound stratagem. No need to train the kid, just break him. And the boy was… softer, back then. Less ruthless. Penguin thought he was easy pickings.”

“No such thing among Bats,” Jason said. He didn’t like the replacement, but he was willing to concede the kid was damn good in a fight. He’d seen him hold his own against Croc, which was a hell of an achievement.

“Yes well, Penguin learnt that the hard way. The boy took one of his eyes out the first time he tried to make him fight.”

“And he kept trying?!” Penguin wasn’t usually that stupid.

“Oh yes. He just pitted him against opponents who were trying to kill him, and the boy had no choice. He never made a kill, but he did make a hell of a mess. Harley was quite upset about the whole thing. She’s got a bit of a soft spot for the kid. She won’t admit it, but I’m pretty sure it was her who told Batman where to find him.”

“How long did he have him?”

“About a month, I think.”

Jason winced. He knew the kinds of horrors scrappers were subjected too, and Penguin was a notoriously cruel master. He couldn’t help feeling a grudging respect for the Replacement for surviving that with his sanity intact and without breaking Batman’s one rule. Maybe there was more to the kid that he’d thought.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for ghouls killing and eating someone, suicidal people being taken advantage of and not helped, minor cannibalism, vore fatasies, masturbation, murder, mentions of Jason's time with Talia (past underage, not explicit) and unintenional neglect (starving a child due to misunderstandings about their dietary needs).

Jason left it a few days before he went back to the manor, partly out of reluctance to face Bruce, and partly out of hope that it would give Bruce time to face reality.

Damian obviously heard or smelled him coming, because he met Jason outside, pelting down the driveway, gravel flying, and slamming bodily into him in something he suspected would have been a hug from another child.

“The man is trying to poison me,” Damian said urgently, clutching at Jason’s shirt. “The old man wants to poison me and father is letting him and I don’t understand why.”

Jason sighed. “Damnit, I was hoping they might have come to their senses by now. They’re not trying to poison you kid, they’re just being stupid and forgetting that human food makes us sick. When did you last eat?”

“Drake made me popsicles,” the kid said, pronouncing the word carefully, like it was new to him.

That seemed like an odd thing for the replacement to do. “Did they make you sick too?”

“No. They’re made of blood. They’re good.”

Jason blinked, wondering where on earth the Replacement had got the blood from. “That was nice of him I guess.”

“He won’t let me kill anyone though. Nor will father. And I’m so hungry!” Red and black was bleeding into Damian’s eyes at the thought of food. Things were worse than Jason had imagined. Talia had always placed great emphasis on being able to blend in with humans, so if her kid was showing his ghoul-side, he must have been starving.

“Well how about we go get one of those blood pops, and I’ll see if I can get them to let me take you hunting,” Jason said.

Damian grinned at him, and then suddenly seemed to remember that he was the grandson of Ra's al Ghul and much too dignified to go around hugging people. He straightened up stiffly and stepped away from Jason. “Acceptable.”

He lead Jason around to the back of the house, and to Jason’s amusement, straight up the wall and in through a third-floor window. Kid probably wasn’t used to using doors.

The window turned out to belong to the replacement. He looked up when Damian dropped gracefully over the sill, and smiled at them.

“Hi, Hood. Want a popsicle?”

He was eating one himself, and it had stained his mouth red. For a moment Jason thought it was a blood-pop, felt his stomach lurch with sudden arousal, and then he breathed in and smelled artificial strawberry.

“Yes,” Damian said, pulling a beanbag closer to the bed and sitting down. “I’m hungry.” He was eying the replacement with red eyes, but the replacement didn’t seem in the least intimidated.

“These are the last two,” he warned, opening the mini-fridge he’d been using as a nightstand. “I’ll make some more before patrol tonight, so they’ll be frozen by tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Where are you getting the blood?” Jason asked, accepting one of the icy red treats and removing his mask. The smell was muted by the cold, but it was unmistakable as fresh human blood.

“Some of it’s mine,” replacement said with a shrug, as though it was no big deal. “Some of it’s from Bruce’s medical supplies. I’m gonna get Dick to contribute to the next batch though. I was woozy for ages after making them.”

Jason stared down at the blood-pop and tentatively took a lick. It was good, deep and slightly tangy, and made him kinda want to eat the replacement. He sucked it into his mouth, a smooth cylinder of blood, and wondered what it would be like to eat someone’s cock. He’d never tried.

He looked up to find the replacement was staring at him, eyes wide and a slight blush staining his cheeks. Jason grinned. He had been getting kinda into it then, and a growing boy like the replacement probably had urges. Keeping eye contact he ran his tongue up the length of the blood-pop, and had the pleasure of watching the replacement turn bright red.

“You’re both disgusting,” Damian announced severely. “We’re supposed to be getting me food, remember?”

“Hey not my fault the replacement tastes good,” Jasons said mildly, just to watch Red Robin blush even more. “Replacement, you think Bruce will let me take the kid hunting?”

“I don’t need supervision,” Damian said, annoyed. “I just need to be able to get out at night.”

“Yeah, no,” Jason said. “No way am I letting you out alone. You’ll start a turf war within five minutes. The Gotham Ghouls are extremely protective of their territories. You’re sticking with me until I’m sure you know where the borders are.”

Damian scowled, but didn’t argue. Even a brat like him knew about the importance of territory.

“If Bruce doesn’t say yes, me and Dick will break Damian out,” the replacement said firmly. “Starving a kid isn’t right. And my name’s Tim.”

“I know your name, replacement. You going to come back me up against the Big Bad Bat?”

“He’s in the cave sparring with Dick,” the replacement said, standing and stretching. He hadn’t quite finished his popsicle and he held it in his mouth while he stretches his arms, a tiny stream of sticky red liquid leaking from the corner of his mouth. Jason couldn’t decide if he wanted to lick him or bite him more.

“Come on, maybe if we present a united front there won’t be as much yelling,” the replacement said, holding the door open for Damian. “Don’t worry kid, I’m not going to let you starve.”

“Gosh how very generous of you,” Damian said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but he visibly relaxed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jason might have all kinds of problems with them both, but had to admit it was a treat to watch Bruce and Dick fight. It was more like a dance than sparring, the two of them far too in tune with one another to learn anything new, but it was stunning to watch, the perfect awareness they had of where the other is at all times, the way they seemed to read one another’s minds, moving to block strikes before they were even made. Jason wondered if he’d eventually have had that kind of rapport with Bruce if Joker hadn’t… He shook himself, dismissing the pathetic thought. Might have beens were useless, and he didn’t allow himself to indulge.

“Hey Bruce,” he said instead. “I’m here to take the kid hunting.”

Bruce stilled, turning to look at Jason with an expression of horror just as Dick went for a headshot. The punch connected, all of Dick’s considerable strength behind it (all the years as an aerialist had given Dick arm muscles a strongman would envy) and Bruce’s head snapped to the side, sending him stumbling backwards. Jason bit back a bark of laughter.

“Oh my God!” Dick said, “Bruce, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

“My own fault,” Bruce said, shaking out his neck and wincing. “Good form. Jason, you are not taking Damian anywhere.”

Jason was gearing up for a proper screaming match, when the replacement stepped in front of him.

“Bruce, I won’t allow you to starve your own child.”

“I’m not starving him! There’s no reason he should require human flesh. Chemically…”

“Ghouls eat people,” Jason said, irritated at being cut off. He’d been looking forward to a proper row. “I don’t care what the science says, I’m telling you, as a Ghoul, we eat people.”

“The substitute Wayne Industries makes…”

“Tastes like absolute shit,” Jason said. “And it hasn’t been properly tested. You don’t even know if it will make us sick. Human food doesn’t just taste bad Bruce, it’s fucking poison, and you know it. You could actually be killing him with that stuff. Do you even care? Or are your precious principles more important than the life of your fucking son?!”

Dick sighed. “Bruce, I’m siding with them on this,” he said tiredly. “I don’t like it, you know I don’t. But Damian’s health has to be the priority here. I’m honestly surprised the kid hasn’t lost it yet.”

“I’ve been feeding him,” Tim said casually. “Just a bit of blood, but enough to keep him going until Jason got here.”

“You… what?!” Bruce looked like his eyes were about to pop out of his head.

“I made blood popsicles,” Tim said. “Dick, you’re helping with the next batch.”

“I… okay.” Dick looked confused and worried, but he obviously trusted the replacement to know what he was doing. Jason clenched his teeth against the hot curl of rage that jealousy always roused in him.

“I won’t let my son kill someone!” Bruce yelled. He was white with rage or fear, Jason wasn’t sure which, more emotion on his face than Jason had ever seen him display. “I won’t, I can’t… Not in my city.”

“I’ll go with them,” Tim said quietly. “I won’t let them break the rules.”

“Oh, you won’t let us?!” Jason snarled, turning on the replacement. He’d just been starting to warm up the kid, and then he proved he was just as bad as Bruce. “You think…” He trailed off. Down by his side, out Bruce’s line of sight, the replacement was signing something, his fingers flying he spelt out, ‘I can lie to Bruce’. Jason stared at his fingers for a long moment, until the meaning hit him, and he huffed out a sigh of fake annoyance, turning back to Bruce with an expression of irritated resignation. “You know what? Fine. If that’s what it takes to get you to look after your fucking kid? Fine. Replacement can tag along, so long as he can keep up.”

Damian was watching the two of them with some interest. From where he was standing, behind Tim, he must have been able to see the signs. Jason wondered if Talia bothered teaching him ASL. Not that it mattered. The meaning of Tim’s signs was pretty obvious, even to someone who didn’t know the letters.

“I would like that, father,” he said, looking at Bruce with an innocent expression. “I like Tim. He will keep me safe.” It was a little OTT, Jason’d only met the kid twice and he already knew he’d never in a million years say something like that truthfully, but apparently Bruce hadn’t bothered to get to know his son, because he nodded, looking relieved.

“Now?” Damian asked, excited.

“Tonight,” Jason said, smiling a little at the kid’s pleasure. There was something inherently cute about Ghoul children, he thought. Something about the innocence combined with the deadly power. “There’s a couple of places you can hunt in the daylight, but I’d rather not risk it.”

Damian pouted, bottom lips protruding sulkily. “I’m hungry now!”

“Yeah, kid, I know. But not long now, yeah?”

“Fine.” Damian turned on his heel and stalked out, irritated at not getting his own way.

Bruce rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m not trying to…”

Dick laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know Bruce. But until we can figure out something better, this is the safest solution. Tim will look after him.”

“Unlike me, I suppose,” Jason said bitterly. “Fuck off Dick, I need to speak to Bruce.”

Dick jumped easily out of the ring and headed for the door, but he paused with his shoulder brushing Jason’s, and said so low only a Ghoul would hear him, “You better be nice if you want me to keep Bruce from following you tonight, Jaybird.”

“Fuck off Grayson,” Jason said, but he gave him a small smile as well. Bruce following him on one of his hunts was a recurring nightmare of his, and he genuinely didn’t know what he’d do if he tried it, but it wouldn’t be anything good.

“I’ll see you later, Hood,” the replacement said, smiling at him, warm and happy and no sign that he’d just told Jason he was going to let him commit murder later.

When they were alone, Bruce began unwinding the bandages from his hands, back turned to Jason in a gesture he knew was more about nervousness than rudeness but which irritated him all the same.

“I need to take Damian to meet the Gotham Ghouls,” he said quietly, knowing Bruce would hear him. His hearing was uncannily good for a human.

“No.” The word was sharp, unmistakably an order, and Jason got a certain little thrill from ignoring it.

“He’s a new Ghoul in the city. If you want him to be able to move around without it starting a war, they need to meet him.”

“No. Anyway, you told Ivy. That should be enough.”

“I did, and she’ll be passing the word along to the others. They know he’s here Bruce, they just need a chance to learn his scent.”

Bruce turned to face him, expression furious. “You want to take my son to see those monsters? To see the man… the man who…”

“You think I don’t know what Joker did to me?” Jason snarled. “I was fucking there, Bruce. I felt it. I can remember every fucking minute of it. I would never allow him to touch Damian, never. But I’m not getting caught up in the middle of a turf war just because you’re too fucking prejudiced to respect Ghoul society. Damian isn’t human, and pretending isn’t going to change that!”

“I know!”

“Really? Because it doesn’t look like it. It looks like the world isn’t going your way so you’re just fucking pretending it is, like a fucking child. Like you did with me.”

“Jason I never…”

“Really? And that’s why you won’t look me in the eye unless I’m pretending to be human?” He allowed his eyes to bleed red. “That’s why you’re still trying to take my territory from me? That’s why pretend you can’t see my scars?”

“I know what you are,” Bruce said, quietly. “I know. I have to live with that every day of my life.”

“Oh gosh Bruce,” Jason snarled, “I had no idea your life was so fucking hard. Sitting here in your mansion feeling sorry for yourself must have been so much worse than being eaten alive and remade as a fucking Frankenstein’s monster!”

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. “I don’t want to fight with you, Jason. It’s important that you’re here for this, because you’re right. I know everything there is to know about hunting Ghouls, but next to nothing about how they live. I want to do right by Damian, but I have no idea where to start.”

Jason laughed bitterly. “Start by acting like a fucking father and putting Damian first,” he said. “And throwing away all that goddamn tofu flesh shit. And let me do what needs to be done.”

“You swear you won’t let Joker touch him?”

Jason wanted to lash out, wanted to scream that Bruce hadn’t cared when it was Jason at risk, but he was right, they needed to work together on this, for Damian’s sake.

“I swear.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Daman was doing his best not to look excited at being out of the manor and failing adorably. Jason thought he was going to end up getting pretty fond of the kid.

It wasn’t surprising that the kid was happy to be out. His life with Talia must have been filled with constant mental and physical stimulation, and even the stress of living among strangers probably hadn’t been enough to keep him from being horribly bored.

They were in Jason’s territory. He’d picked the kid up on his bike, Red Robin following on his own, but they’d left them at an apartment block where Jason knew they’d be safe and continued on foot.

“I’ve never eaten an American before,” Damian said, balancing on the very edge of the rooftop so he could stare down at the street below. “What do they taste like?”

“Sweet,” Jason said, thinking about it. “Fatty. The average American diet is very high in sugar salt and fat, and it makes the meat softer than people from other countries.” He glanced at Tim. “Sorry.”

Tim shrugged. “I don’t care. Last week I watched Dick put a man’s guts back inside him. Talking about how people taste really isn’t that gross compared to that. And it’s only fair. I mean we talk about food in front of you all the time. Seems fair you should get to do the same.”

“You’re a weird kid, replacement.”

“So I’ve been told. Damian how hungry are you?”

“I’m only refraining from eating you because mother told me to obey father,” Damian said. “I’m starving.”

“I have no idea how much a kid your age eats,” Jason admitted. “I ate with Ivy the other day, so I’m not that hungry. You okay with sharing?”

“Long as I get a leg,” Damian said, grinning in a way that showed off his sharp white teeth.

“That’s fair. I prefer organs. Replacement, you really okay with this?”

“Sort of. I’ve got an idea. Follow me,” and then he was gone grappling away into the night.

Jason sighed. “Don’t’ spose anyone gave you a line yet, huh?” he said to Damian, who shook his head. “Piggyback it is then. It’s not dignified, but it gets us closer to supper.”

Damian scowled, but scrambled up his back like a monkey, digging his nails painfully into Jason’s shoulders when he leapt.

The line caught them, and he twisted, doing his best to compensate for the added weight. He overestimated somewhat, throwing them too high, but Damian didn’t seem to mind, letting out a joyful yell as they flew through the air after Red Robin’s retreating back.

He lead them to the base of the Brown Bridge, and silently pointed up. High above them, a man was standing balanced on the edge, hands clutching the rail. It was a stupid jump spot, since the fall wasn’t guaranteed to kill you, but it was a popular one.

“You suggest we wait till he splats and then pick up the bits?” Jason asked, incredulous.

“No,” replacement said calmly. “I’m suggesting that since he wants to die anyway, there really isn’t anything wrong with killing him.”

“You are a real piece of work, replacement,” Jason said, impressed despite himself. “You want in on the kill?”

The question was half genuine, the replacement had been revealing an unexpected dark side today, and half a tease, an attempt to fluster him. But the replacement just smiled like Jason’d offered him a cup of coffee, and shook his head.

“You go ahead. I’ll wait for you down here.”

“Is it okay if we bring him down here to eat?” Damian asked, a little shyly. “Father said I should stay with you and no go off with Jason alone.”

If Tim was bothered by the idea of watching them eat, he didn’t show it. “Of course. I’m sure Jason won’t mind fetching you take out.”

Jason grinned behind his mask at the morbid joke. “I’ll fetch it, you kill it, okay little D?”

“Acceptable,” Damian said. “And don’t call me little D.”

“Tell you what,” Jason said, as he turned away, “you skewer me next time we spar the way I got you last time, and I’ll stop.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was surprisingly easy to lure the would-be suicide down, and Jason almost felt bad about that until he realised the guy was just sunk so far in misery he didn’t care what happened to him. He’d removed his mask in an attempt to appear less threatening, and from what the man said, he thought Jason was either going to mug or rape him, and seemed depressingly accepting of either. He smelled strongly of alcohol, a mixture of beer and whiskey that Jason found appealing but which he suspected Damian, with his less experienced pallet, wouldn’t like. At least the guy was relatively clean and didn’t bear any of the signs of a drug addict.

Damian grinned when he steered his prey down to where he’d left them, almost bouncing in his eagerness. Jason laughed softly and gave the man a shove, pushing him into Damian’s path.

Damian moved with a speed that was astonishing even for a winged ghoul, almost impossible to track. One moment he was standing by the replacement’s side, the next the would-be suicide was going down under his weight, blood arcing through the air as Damian ripped out his throat. Unnecessarily brutal, but there was something of Talia in the elegant economical movements he used to do it.

He looked up, face splattered with blood, and grinned happily at Jason. “Will you serve, since your kagune is a blade?”

“Sure. You want a leg?”

“Yes. But take the foot off.”

“Fussy eater,” Jason commented, summoning out his kagune and slicing away one of the corpse’s legs, then neatly removing the foot.

He took the heart for himself, his second in less than a week. It wasn’t as good as the one he’d enjoyed with Ivy, but the alcohol still heavy in the man’s bloodstream added a pleasant spice.

“What does it taste like?” Tim asked, coming to crouch beside them, watching them eat with quiet interest. “Do you think it tastes the same to you as it would have as a human?”

“If the muck father served me is the kind of thing you eat, then I doubt humans have any taste buds at all,” Damian said, without looking up from his meal. His sharp little teeth were making fast work of the tough muscle, and he was a surprisingly neat eater, barely any blood on his hands except the splashes left there from making the kill.

“I think…” Jason took another bite and chewed it thoughtfully. “I think it tastes similar to how it would for a human, but heightened. Purer. Why?”

Tim shrugged. “Just interested. I like learning new things. And it occurred to me that humans like raw steak, and I’ve always thought the taste of blood was pleasant.” He saw their expressions, and added hastily, “not other people’s, I mean, I don’t know, I’ve never drunk anyone’s blood, just my own, when I get hurt and stuff.”

“That’s because you’re delicious,” Jason said, around his mouthful. “I might have to eat you in the end.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” the replacement said mildly, just a hint of blush colouring his cheeks. “I’m not ready to die just yet.”

“You could live with only one leg,” Damian said. “I’ve seen people do it. They get prosthetics.”

“Damian, if you attempt to eat my legs I will tell Bruce to ground you for the rest of your life. No leaving the manor ever again. And I won’t take you hunting.”

“I didn’t say I was going too,” Damian said sulkily.”I was just pointing out you wouldn’t necessarily die.”

“Humans can’t heal like us,” Jason said. “He couldn’t grow a new one. You know that.”

“I was just _saying_ ,” Damian said, offended. Jason could already imagine what he was going to be like as a teenager, and it would be horrifying.

“You want any more?” Jason asked, when Damian had finished all the meat and was using a finger to scoop out the bone marrow.

Damian considered it. “Yes,” he said at last. “I’m still hungry. Drake, aren’t you going to eat anything?”

The kid was just trying to be annoying, Jason could see it in his eyes, but to his shock, Tim said, “yes,” very quietly. “Something soft, that I can manage with my human teeth. Just a tiny bit. I want to know what it tastes like.”

“You’re fucked up,” Jason said, but he cut the kid a sliver of soft belly fat and muscle and held it out skewered on the end of his kagune.

Tim blushed as he took it. He blushed a lot, and Jason sort of hated how cute he found it.

“Do you have to stare at me?” Tim complained.

“You’re about to experience cannibalism for the first time,” Jason said, licking his lips as the thought made him drool. “If you think there’s any chance I’m missing this, you really don’t know me very well.”

“Fine.” Tim stared down at the piece of meat in his hand, and then closed his eyes and took a small bite. His blunt human teeth struggled with even that soft meat, but he managed it after a moment, chewing resolutely and then swallowing, his eyes still closed.

“What do you think?” Damian asked. “Way better than human food right?”

“Not unpleasant,” Tim said, opening his eyes. “Could do with salt.”

Jason burst out laughing. “Where the fuck did Bruce find you, replacement. Christ, does he have any idea how fucking insane you are?”

Tim shrugged. “He knows how I function on the field. What I do in my spare time isn’t really any of his business.”

Jason wiped the blood from the hand not covered by his kagune, and held it out to Tim. “I officially retract about 90% of the bad stuff I’ve said about you. And that time I tried to kill you. You’re alright, Tim.”

Tim laughed and shook his hand. “You’re not so bad yourself Jason.”

“This is all very nice,” Damian said, “but wasn’t I promised seconds?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jason returned Tim and Damian home after they’d eaten, despite their protests that they were perfectly capable of getting home by themselves, and finally rolled into bed as the sun was rising. He hadn’t done any crime fighting at all, but he found himself feeling oddly satisfied with the night's work.

He was quickly growing fond of Damian, who was a self-entitled insufferable little brat in desperate need of a good slap, but also a scared confused child who’d been abandoned by everyone he knew, and left with a father who didn’t understand him. It was a hard position to be in, and Jason respected the kid for toughing it out.

He’d got Bruce’s grudging acceptance for his plan to present Damian officially to the Gotham Ghouls, and given the man a few much-needed home truths, which had been painful, but satisfying.

But the big success of the day had definitely been Tim. He’d never met anyone like him, and he didn’t know how he’d gone so long without realising what a freak the kid was.

He grinned at the memory of Tim eating human flesh, and allowed one hand to drift down to rub one of his nipples through his shirt.

Food and sex were inextricably linked for Jason, probably thanks to Talia bribing him to eat when he first came round using sexual favours. Christ that woman was fucked up. He’d been what, fifteen? Sixteen? He didn’t remember exactly, but certainly young and inexperienced. And then along had come Talia with a dismembered corpse and some very skimpy lingerie, and given him a full-on fetish.

God, that blood pop this morning, Tim’s sweet rich blood filling his mouth. He was getting hard just remembering it. Next time, he promised himself, next time he tasted Tim the flavour wouldn’t be contaminated by any of Bruce’s stale bagged blood supply.

His cock was rock hard and aching at the thought, and he rubbed himself lazily. It had been a long time since he touched himself like that, and he didn’t want it to be over too fast.

He imagined getting on his knees for Tim, sucking his cock into his mouth, all that blood just below the surface, the skin soft and so very delicate under his teeth. Imagined the slow tease of sucking without allowing himself to bite down, how hard it would be, how good Tim would taste when he eventually gave in, flushed with lust and pleasure.

He shrugged off his shirt and jeans and settled back on the bed, stroking his cock slowly. He didn’t really want to hurt the kid, but God, he could imagine how good he’d taste, his meat tender and rich and so very delicious. He imagined stripping the kid naked and sinking his teeth into his inner thighs, where hard muscle would be softened by a thin layer of fat. Imagined biting right down, tearing away mouthfuls of flesh, cutting him open and devouring his heart, imagined Tim watching him, smiling and blushing, as Jason devoured him, stripping the flesh from his bones and cracking open his ribcage to pull out his organs and slicing open his skull to lick out his soft creamy brains, until there was nothing left but a skeleton and those soft blue eyes. He came imagining scooping the eyes out of their sockets and eating them too, the way they’d burst on his tongue as he bit down.

Afterwards, he lay there, sticky and exhausted and a little bit ashamed of himself. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to his own perversions by now, but that had been twisted even for him. Something about the Baby Bird brought out his monstrous side. He’d have to watch that if he didn’t want to end up being hunted by Bruce.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for casual discussion of Jason's death and the wounds it left, threats of vivisection, discussions about eating people and the Arkhamites being their charming selves.

Much as he would have liked to avoid Bruce after their conversation, Jason’s conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave Damian alone again, so he headed up to the manor just after noon the next day.

He’d been woken at about eleven by the vibrating of one of his burner phones. He’d opened it, intrigued and a little concerned that anyone had managed to get the number, to find a text which read “Bruce thinks the man jumped, and you ate the remains. He’s not happy about it, but at least he doesn’t know the truth.” He grinned at the memory. He had no idea how Baby Bird got his number or lied to Bruce, but then he was just full of surprises.

Alfred opened the door to him, and he was struck by how old the man looked. The whole Damian situation must have been taking a toll on his nerves.

“How’s the kid?” he asked.

“Rude and violent,” Alfred said. “But somewhat calmer thanks to you and Master Tim. Can I take your jacket?”

Jason was about to say no, but then he remembered his conversation with Bruce. He tried to stay as covered up as possible most of the time, to hide his scars, but he liked the idea of forcing Bruce to acknowledge them. “Sure.”

He felt a little self-conscious removing his jacket in front of Alfred. He was aware of how horrific he looked underneath, the thick knots of scar tissue where huge chunks of his arms grew back before he was Ghoul enough to do it neatly, the surgery scars littering his torso, layered over a network of much older marks left by Gotham herself. He looked like what he was, a monster put together from spare parts, and while he’d learnt to live with that, he still didn’t like other people to see.

“The family are all in the cave,” Alfred said, folding Jason’s leather jacket over one arm. “I believe they are attempting to test Master Damian’s speed.”

“I’ll go down,” Jason said. It sounded entertaining. Damian was the fastest thing he’d ever seen, but he didn’t seem to be very good at stopping yet. Jason grinned as he imagined just how much of a mess that could potentially make.

When he reached the cave, he found Batgirl, Tim and Bruce watching with varying degrees of concern and amusement as Dick attempted to spar with Damian. Attempted, because Damian wasn’t even fighting back, just dodging every attack Dick made moving almost too fast for the eye to follow.

Batgirl heard him coming first and turned to greet him with a small quirk of the lips. He’d never known what to make of her. She didn’t seem in the least afraid of him, which was a plus, but her silence always made him feel like he was being judged.

“Dick hasn’t given up yet?” he asked, coming to stand beside her.

“He can’t keep this up forever,” Dick said, grinning.

“No, obviously. But if this was a real fight I’d have slit your throat by now,” Damian said, dismissively.

“Explaining the concept of human sparring to him was quite difficult,” Tim said, with a tiny quirk of the lips that was probably meant to be a smile. “I’m still not sure he really believes me about how little damage it takes to kill a human.”

“I believe you,” Damian said, “I’m just amazed your species has survived this long. You can’t even grow new limbs!”

Jason laughed. “They are kind of rubbish.”

“Hey,” Dick said, lunging for Damian and missing completely, “you should be on our side. You were human once!”

“Yeah, and I died, which kinda just proves Damian’s point,” Jason said. “If humans weren’t so breakable, I’d still be one of you.”

“Fair point,” Dick conceded. “But we’re not that weak. We go up against the Ghouls all the time, and we’re all still here. You’re a zombie now, but we’re technically all still here.”

“No,” Jason said with a grin, “Baby Bird definitely isn’t all there.”

Tim laughed and hit him gently. “Be nice, or I won’t make you any more blood pops.”

Jason’s mouth watered at the thought, but he said, “See? He’s offering to feed himself to a ghoul. Clearly not all there.”

Tim shrugged. “It’s only blood. I’ve got plenty. It’s not like I’m offering to let you eat me.”

“Yet,” Jason said. “I’ll wear you down in the end.”

“Jason, stop threatening to eat your brother,” Bruce said, and then pulled a horrified expression at the words that had just come out of his mouth.

Beside Jason, Batgirl broke into sudden peals of laughter, and after a moment Dick joined in.

“This family is so crazy,” Dick said happily, and Jason couldn’t help the warmth that stirred in his chest at being included like that.

“You’re all lunatics,” Damian said, staring at them like they were exhibits in a zoo. “Mother was right. You’re all mad.”

“Shut up, your mum loves me,” Jason said smugly. “You’re just jealous because I’m her favourite.”

“You’re no one’s favourite,” Damian said crossly. “You’re an abhorrent freak of nature.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, slinging an arm around Jason’s shoulders as though touching a ghoul without permission wasn’t the stupidest thing he’d done all day, “but he’s our _favourite_ abhorrent freak of nature.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jason knew he was officially freaking out when he realised he’d spent twenty minutes trying to decide what to wear to the meeting with the Gotham Ghouls. He owned a grand total of two pairs of jeans, three identical black shirts, and one jacket. It wasn’t like he was spoilt for choice.

He took a deep breath, attempting to slow his heart rate, and put on the cleanest of the shirts and jeans, tucking a gun at the small of his back. He preferred to avoid close quarters fighting if he could, and he made his own rounds, mixing lead with bits of kagune he took from anyone who tried to poach on his territory. They were pretty effective against even powerful ghouls like the ones he was preparing to face.

At least he wouldn’t be alone. Damian was only a kid, but he was pretty handy in a fight. And Ivy could probably be trusted to take his side, and Scarecrow (though in Scarecrow’s case it was because he wanted Jason alive to experiment on, and he’d probably feel the same way about Damian).

On the other hand, they were going to be facing real monsters. Penguin, Clayface, Tallyman, Two-Face, the Joker… He’d met Joker a grand total of three times since Jason’s death, and that was three times too many as far as he was concerned. The clown’s lieutenant Harley was nice enough if you got her alone, but with Joker there she would also be a threat.

The problem with Joker, apart from the fact that Jason still had nightmares about how it had felt to be eaten alive by him, was that he was unpredictable. The others weren’t so much of a problem. Croc didn’t care what people did as long as he got fed, Penguin just wanted power, Tallyman wanted to kill as many humans as he could get his hands on, Two-Face mostly wanted to be left alone to run his territory, and Clayface… Actually, Jason wasn’t sure what Clayface wanted, but he usually kept to himself so it wasn’t much of a problem.

But Joker… All he really seemed to want was chaos, and the chance to take another bite out of Batman. He’d tried to wipe both ghouls and humans from the city on different occasions, went through phases of preaching ghoul superiority, only to be distracted by something and go back into hiding, and had committed almost every crime it was possible to commit. He might love Damian, or he might try and kill him on sight, and until they got there, Jason had no way of knowing which it would be.

The final member of the Gotham Ghouls was Riddler, but he wasn’t a problem. He was irritating, but no real threat. His insistence on only eating only those he deemed intellectually worthy meant he was thin to the point of emaciation, and the only challenge he posed was intellectual. Besides, Damian was probably bright enough for Riddler to like him, or at least tolerate him.

Jason had spent every day since his argument with Bruce second-guessing himself about whether he was doing the right thing, taking a kid to see those monsters. He helped out occasionally at a shelter in his territory which housed homeless and orphaned ghoul kids and tried to give them some of the education they missed out on, and the thought of sending any one of those kids into a place like that turned his stomach. But seeing Damian face off against Dick the day before had reassured him a little. The kid was tough, far tougher than any normal child of his age, ghoul or otherwise, and fast enough to get out of almost any situation. He’d be okay. The things that had happened to Jason weren’t going to happen to Damian.

Jason pulled his mask into place and looked at himself in the mirror. The Gotham Ghouls all knew what he looked like, but he felt more comfortable having it on. He’d never had Bruce’s talent for hiding what he was thinking, and the mask meant he didn’t have to worry about controlling his expressions.

Jason had travelled a lot, and come across ghoul communities where masks were considered essential and others were wearing one was considered the height of rudeness. In Gotham they were usually worn by the lower ranks, to keep the Bats from recognising them, but of the high rankers, only Clayface and Two-Face always wore one. Penguin wore one for important meetings, under the mistaken impression it made him look sophisticated, and Scarecrow wore his enough for it to have given him his nickname, but the rest of them usually didn’t bother. At least they were common enough that it wasn’t considered rude for him to wear one to meetings like this, the way it would have been in Mexico.

He was picking Damian up from the manor, and he briefly considered stealing a car before deciding against it and starting his bike. The night was cold and he didn’t like having someone riding pillion, but he wanted a vehicle he knew, in case he had to make a quick getaway.

The drive through the city was quiet, the cold keeping most people inside. The streets of the entertainment district were lined with brightly lit windows, but people were staying inside, only a few drunken revellers stumbling from one club to the next. A few cars passed him, but for most of the drive, he had the roads to himself. He was glad. If something went wrong at tonight’s meeting, fewer people on the streets meant less potential collateral damage.

The Manor gates opened silently for him as he pulled close, and he brought the bike to a stop in front of the main doors. They swung open, spilling warm light onto the gravel, and Damian appeared, followed by Dick.

Dick was in full costume, escrima at his waist, while Damian was dressed smartly in dark slacks and a button-down, face bare.

“You got a mask, kid?” Jason asked. The league didn’t go in for them, but they couldn’t have Damian’s face known, not when he was surely going to be in all the papers any day now. It wasn’t every day Bruce Wayne adopted another child.

Damian nodded. “Grandfather gave me one before I left. He said I would need it.”

“Put it on then. We’ll be watched most of the way through town.”

“I’ll be right back,” Damian said, and disappeared back inside the house.

“What about me?” Dick asked. “Am I good to go, or am I going to horribly offend someone with my outfit?”

“You are not coming with us,” Jason said. “No way Dick, not happening.”

“Bruce says someone has to, and we don’t send Tim to the Iceberg Lounge. Not since…”

Jason remembered Ivy telling him the kid had been kept as a scrapper for a month at the club before Bruce was able to rescue him. If he were Dick, he’d keep the kid away as well. “We don’t need an escort.”

Dick shrugged. “It’s me or Bruce. I figured you’d prefer me.”

“Fine, but keep out of the way, and for God’s sake keep your mouth shut. Also, you smell fucking awful.”

“New scent concealer,” Dick said with a grin. “It’s supposed to make us less appetising.”

“Well it’s certainly doing that,” Jason said, wrinkling his nose. “What is it?”

Dick laughed. “You won’t believe this. It’s actually the bread smell they use in supermarkets to trick people into thinking the bread is freshly baked.”

Okay, Jason had to admit that was a little funny. “Bruce’s idea?”

Dick shook his head. “Tim’s. The stranger ideas usually are.”

Jason thought of Tim calmly watching them kill and eat a man, no expression on his face except mild interest. “Was he always that…” He couldn’t think of a word that accurately described Tim’s simultaneous complete sanity and utter madness. “Was he always like that?”

Dick shook his head. “Before the Iceberg… he was different. Quieter. More careful. More afraid. He laughs more now.”

Jason considered that. What kind of person came away from an experience like that happier? Or was it like Jason’s cockiness, just another mask to keep people from seeing that inside he was bleeding from wounds that would never fully heal? He wanted to know, wanted to strip away all Tim’s masks and pretences and see if what was underneath was as appealing as what was on the surface.

“We can leave now,” Damian said, reappearing, mask in place. The mask was beautiful, vividly white and shaped like a bird’s skull, with a short pointed beak. A robin, Jason realised with a start. Damian’s mask was a Robin. Behind the empty eye sockets, Damian’s eyes bled red and black. The effect was fantastically eerie, and Jason could imagine how it would strike fear into the hearts of Batman’s enemies.

Damian elected to ride behind Dick, which Jason was glad of. He didn’t like having a passenger, didn’t like having anyone that close. Talia was the only one who’d touched what he was now, and she didn’t count since she had created him. He remembered Tim’s arm, warm and comforting around his shoulder, and firmly shoved the thought away. That didn’t count, he’d only allowed that because… well, because he was fascinated by Tim. Christ, his life was turning into one of those dreadful romances Jason had found hidden in Dick’s room at the manor. (He’d read every single one of them, in some cases twice, because the badly written sex scenes were the closest thing to porn he’d had. I was impossible to hide dirty magazines in your room when Batman was your legal guardian.)

Jason took the lead, roaring through the streets, enjoying not having to be stealthy for a change. He and Dick raced each over the Kane Bridge, and for just a moment, Jason felt like nothing had changed.

He’d been right about them being watched. He began to feel the eyes on him, watching from the rooftops, when they turned into the Diamond District. They’d be Penguin’s men. The old bird was too nosy for his own good.

The Iceberg Lounge, Penguin’s ridiculously ostentatious nightclub cum scrapper pit, was moored at Port Adams for the night, shedding ice blue light which shattered over the water like stars. It looked deceptively pleasant, but then that was Penguin’s real talent. They all blended in with the humans, with varying degrees of success, but Penguin was the master, taking the rumours about his species and crafting them into an air of fashionable danger that enticed humans far more than simply hiding. He was open about what he was, as much as he could be without being arrested, and the result was that no one seemed to believe him. Yet more proof of the endless stupidity of normal people. He’d seen humans beaten to death in the streets for the faintest suspicion that they might be a ghoul, but present them with a real monster and they flocked to him like lambs to the slaughter.

They were greeted at the door by Penguins right-hand woman, Lark, intimidating as ever in her work costume of well-tailored black tuxedo, her short hair slicked back. She was a respected figure in the Gotham underworld, standing six foot four and with a punch that put even Batman to shame. As always she smelled of nothing but artificial lilacs, nothing to give Jason a clue as to whether the rumours that she was actually human were true.

She seemed unsurprised to see Dick, curtly ordering the three them to follow her and not wander off without bothering with a greeting before leading them through the noise and crowds in the main club to the staircase that lead to the ghoul-friendly basement area.

Jason had been there once or twice before, while negotiating settlements or territory rights, and he was prepared for the lingering stink of blood and fear. He hadn’t wanted to warm Damian in front of Lark though, and the boy's eyes widened in shock behind his mask.

Penguin and the others were waiting for them in a large private lounge deep below water level. It was one of the rooms were those attending scrapper fights could place bets and make deals before and after the main event. In some ways, it was more sickening than the arena itself, a place where human life was traded for money or favours, but at least it was shut off from the awful smell of death. Jason took a deep breath to try and calm his pulse as the doors closed behind them and instantly regretted it when his nose filled with the scent of Joker, the association with fear and pain too strong for him to ever shake.

The clown waved at him from his armchair, smiling widely as though genuinely pleased to see him. It made Jason’s skin crawl.

“Hood, m’boy,” Penguin exclaimed, lumbering to his feet and smiling behind the monochrome face of his signature mask, “how nice to see you! You never visit the club! You know you’re always welcome.”

“I don’t see the fun in watching innocent people fight to the death,” Jason said, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

“Well each to their own, I suppose.” Penguin was doing his slightly drunken upper-class act. It was one he did well. If Jason hadn’t seen the arena, he might even have believed it. “And this must be the young man we’ve heard so much about. What a charming mask.” Jason noticed Penguin was ignoring Dick, who standing stiff and silent at Jason’s back.

“Hello,” Damian said, hands folded behind his back. “Thank you for inviting me into your hunting grounds.”

Penguin beamed. “What a charming child. Come, you must meet everyone.”

Jason leaned against Ivy’s chair as he watched Penguin introduce Damian to Clayface, Tally Man and Two-Face. Dick stayed by the door, silent and watchful, and when it was Joker’s turn to be introduced Jason was suddenly very grateful to have him there.

“So you’re the new baby Bat,” Joker said, leaning in close to sniff Damian. It was unpardonably rude of him, but Joker had never cared about offending people. “Fascinating. I expect I’ll be seeing a lot more of you very soon.” He winked at Jason, who gritted his teeth. The clown was just trying to annoy him, he knew that, but that didn’t make it any less effective.

“Hey kid,” Harley said, smiling bright and genuine. She liked children, too soft-hearted for her own good, and Jason couldn’t help kind of liking her for it. If she’d just leave that maniac, he thought they’d probably get along.

“Hello Doctor Quinzel,” Damian replied politely. Bruce had briefed him before they came out, obviously.

Harley grinned, clearly delighted. “Well aren’t you sweet!”

“Oh I’m sure he’s a regular cinnamon bun,” Joker said, watching Damian a little too intensely. “Smells like it too.”

“Don’t be rude Mista J,” Harley said, hitting her boyfriend gently on the arm in a way that Joker’s expression suggested was going to have serious consequences. “Have you met Croc yet, kid?”

Damian nodded to Croc. “Pleased to meet you Mr Jones.”

“Prefer Croc,” Croc said, showing his teeth in something that was probably supposed to be a smile. Damian nodded, and Jason couldn’t help letting out a sigh of relief. The danger wasn’t over, but at least Joker hadn’t immediately tried to kill the kid. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t try it later, but Jason was still relieved.

When Damian turned to Ivy, Jason performed the introductions. “Damian, meet the most Gotham’s most charming Ghoul, Poison Ivy.”

“You’re a dreadful creep,” Ivy said, but she smiled at Damian. “I understand you’ve been giving Batman some trouble.”

Damian shrugged. “He doesn’t understand about Ghouls. I’m teaching him.”

“You eat him and you’ll have a permanent place in Gotham,” she said. “He’s been a thorn in our collective side for a long time.”

Damian nodded gravely. “I’ll bear that in mind Dr Isley.”

“And you’re always welcome in Robinson Park,” she added. “I try to look out for the younger members of our little community.”

Damian gave her a little bow. “You’re very gracious.” He’d obviously been carefully schooled in manners, no sign of the self-entitled little brat Jason had come to know in his respectful façade.

“Any chance of taking a blood sample while you’re here?” Scarecrow asked, leaning forward in his chair eagerly. “Nothing much, but I really am keen to find out how you were put together. Do you know how your creator overcame the enzyme incompatibility? I’ve theorised…”

“Now now Jonathan, no shop talk here,” Penguin interrupted. “You know the rules.” Scarecrow scowled and sat back in his chair, obviously already plotting how to get the samples he wanted. Jason would have to warn Damian about him when they weren’t being watched.

“I’m sorry Dr Crane, but can’t allow you to take any samples,” Damian said firmly. “Mother forbade it.”

As he spoke, the far door opened and a waiter appeared, pushing a cart laden with plates under silver dish covers.

“Shall we eat?” Penguin asked, clapping his hands together as Scarecrow scowled at being interrupted. “I’ve got something really special for you all today. Procured for me especially from Thailand. And don’t worry, Ivy my dear, I promise the meat was allowed to mature fully before slaughter. I know how sentimental you are about children.”

There was a dining table set on one corner of the room, silverware gleaming against the white cloth, and the Ghouls drifted over to take their seats.

“Nightwing, I can have something brought down from the kitchens if you’d like?” Penguin offered magnanimously. “I hadn’t expected you, but let it never be said I’m not a good host. Of course, you’ll have to eat outside, I wouldn’t want the smell to put my friends off their food. There’s a small dining room just next door…”

“I’m fine,” Dick said shortly. “I ate already.”

“Well if you’re sure, my boy, if you’re sure. Then perhaps you’d just step outside for the rest of the meeting. I don’t like to make personal remarks, but I’m afraid whatever cologne you’re wearing is a little overpowering.”

Jason tensed, and Dick’s hand drifted towards his belt, but Damian defused the situation by giving Penguin his very best puppy dog expression, and asking, “But can’t he stay? He’s only a human, but I promised Batman I’d keep him safe, and I never break my word. I’m sure the others won’t mind.”

“Oh let the boy stay,” Two-Face said impatiently. “I’m hungry.”

There was a sound of agreement from Croc, and Penguin sighed. “Very well, if you’re all sure. Now then Master Damian, you come and sit by me and tell me all about yourself. It’s not often I get the chance to meet someone so interesting.”

Jason ended up sitting between Ivy and Scarecrow, more or less opposite Damian. It left his back to the door, but he trusted Dick to watch it for him, so he relaxed a little. At least Joker was at the other end of the table. Eating was going to be hard when the man’s scent turned his stomach, but he’d force it down in the name of getting through this without any fights.

“I’ve got a new bone saw,” Scarecrow said, as the waiter removed the dish covers to reveal thin slices of liver, seared but still pink in the middle. Jason had never seen the appeal of cooking his food, but he had to admit that the chefs at the Iceberg were excellent. He wondered if they were ghouls or humans. “You’d really barely feel a thing if you’d just let me vivisect you. And I promise to put everything back afterwards.”

“You’re not dissecting me, Scarecrow,” Jason said, removing his mask and skewering a square of liver on his fork. It was good, lightly seasoned and with just a hint of something that might be wine in the flavour.

“You really are dreadful at small talk Jonathan,” Ivy said, taking a sip from her glass of blood. “Can’t you at least work up to the dissection?”

“Vivisection,” Scarecrow said sulkily. “And what would be the point? The boy knows what my intentions are. Small talk would simply be an unnecessary waste of time.”

“What would you do afterwards?” Damian asked suddenly, leaning forward in his seat. “Are you going to make more monsters like Todd?”

“What would be the point of that?” Jonathan asked. “No my hope is that by studying Hood, and yourself, I will come to have a better understanding of Ghoul physiognomy.”

“Red Robin said you’ve been looking into the effects of humans drugs on our systems,” Jason said. The only way to derail Scarecrow when he got the bit between his teeth was to get him talking about his own research.

“Oh yes. It’s really quite fascinating. Opiates seem to prohibit the production of RC cells, reducing regeneration capacities. I did some experiments with some poachers, and I found that if you inject a high enough dose of heroine, you can actually cut the skin with a steel blade.”

Jason shuddered. Thank God Tim had told him. God knows what kinds of damage he’d done to himself with his bad diet.

“That’s very interesting,” Damian said, putting down his fork and folding his hands on the table. “Grandfather used to use acid, but that sounds much more efficient. I must tell him.”

“And who is your Grandfather, you man?” Penguin asked brightly.

“Raa’s Al-Ghul,” Damian said. “The liver is very good.”

Around the table, the Ghouls had frozen, staring at the kid in horror. Even among ghouls Raa’s was a figure of dread. He was the oldest living member of their species, and it was said that no one who saw him reveal his kagune lived to tell of it. People even claimed that the very word ghoul derived from his name. There were stories that he was immortal, that his regenerative powers were so strong that he could never die. Jason knew his longevity owed more to science than nature, but frankly, he didn’t think that made him any less terrifying.

“If you are the grandson of Raa’s Al-Ghul, what are you doing in Gotham?” Two-Face asked.

Damian blinked once. “Mother said it was time I got out and saw the world. Grandfather believes it’s important for us to understand humans, and he’s always respected Batman.”

“And how’re you liking it down here in the real world?” Joker asked, grinning. “Is it as exciting as you’d always dreamed?”

“Humans are very stupid,” Damian said firmly. “And their food is horrible. But it’s interesting. Gotham is very different from home.”

“I heard the League lives on top of a mountain,” Two-Face commented. “What do you eat?”

“Oh, mother keeps a few slaves. And we go down onto the plains to hunt every month. Grandfather says hunger help to build self-control.”

Penguin glanced down at his considerable belly, and scowled.

“And what about living with my darling Batsy?” Joker asked. “You taken a bite out of him yet?”

“I didn’t understand, at first, that humans don’t practise cannibalism as a method of conflict resolution,” Damian said, looking slightly shamefaced. “I did bite him once or twice before that was explained to me.”

To Jason’s relief, Joker seemed amused rather than jealous, roaring with laughter and slapping the table. “Congratulations kid. You’re only the second ghoul ever to get a taste of him, after yours truly of course. Does he still taste as good as I remember?”

“I prefer civilians,” Damian said. “Softer. Fighters are always a little tough, don’t you find?”

“Quite right,” Penguin said, nodding. “The flesh of the idle rich for example, has a particular buttery softness that I admit myself very partial too.”

“Gotta have a lotta fat,” Croc growled. “That’s where the flavour it.”

“What about you, Hood?” Riddler asked. “I know you only eat those you feel deserve it, but surely you must have a preference?”

Jason thought of the taste of Tim’s blood, of how smooth and inviting the skin of his neck was when he was out of uniform. He really needed to stop thinking about that. “Young enough to still be tender,” he said. “But old enough to have a bit of flavour. And I prefer my meat lean.”

Damian gave him a look that suggested he knew exactly what, or rather who, Jason was thinking about.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dick was silent on the drive home, didn’t say a word until Damian had been packed off to bed.

“Alright,” Jason said, when they were alone. “What is it you’ve been trying so hard not to say in front of the kid?”

“Nothing,” Dick said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just… I don’t understand how you can do that Jay! How you can pretend to be one of them. You used to  _fight_ ghouls, remember?”

“No,” Jason said, annoyed. “I fought monsters. I thought you’d have understood that by now. Ghoul does not equal monster, and monster doesn’t equal ghoul. If it did, I’d be going hungry.”

“Oh so what, if there was suddenly no crime you wouldn’t just start keeping scrappers? I just watched you eat a meal of human flesh with the God damn Penguin! After what he did to Tim! And you try to tell me you’re not like them?”

“I would _never_ hurt Tim,” Jason bit out.

“Oh really? Because I seem to remember you threatening to fucking eat him yesterday!”

“That was flirting!” Jason exclaimed. God, he knew Dick could be oblivious sometimes, but surely even he understood Jason hadn’t actually been threatening the baby bird.

“I… That was meant to be flirting?! Fucking hell, Jay, you’re really shit at it, you know that?!”

“He understood.” He was assuaged with sudden doubt. What if Baby Bird hadn’t understood? What if he really thought Jason was going to hurt him? “Didn’t he? He understood, right?”

Dick stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Oh my God, you like him! I thought you hated him!”

“Yeah, well, that was before I found out was a freak he is,” Jason muttered, staring at his shoes. “He fed me his blood, how was I supposed to react?”

Dick laughed a little hysterically. “Every time I think I’ve lost you forever, you do something like this and I remember that underneath all the scars you’re still just my lame little brother.”

“Whatever.” He and Dick hadn’t been brothers before, not really. Dick had been away, in New York and then Bludhaven, and however much Jason had tried to impress him, Dick had always made it pretty fucking clear that he didn’t think Jason was good enough. Even the memories of their few real moments of bonding were tinged with bitterness now, the harsh neon lights of Talia’s lab exposing the hidden truths he’d tried to ignore.

“Seriously though,” Dick added, “you’re lucky Tim’s so messed up. Anyone else would have freaked out by now.”

Jason remembered Tim willingly eating human flesh, and smiled despite himself. “I’m pretty sure threatening to eat him isn’t nearly weird enough to bother him,” he said.


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce held out for an entire month before he caved and allowed Damian to go on patrol. Jason was honestly impressed he lasted that long.

The plan had been for the kid to wear Tim’s old Robin costume, but Damian had taken one look at it and declared it the most horrific thing he’d ever seen. Jason couldn’t help grinning at that, since he’d always secretly agreed. The costume that had eventually been negotiated was more subdued, incorporating Damian’s bird-mask and a hooded black cloak. It also didn’t involve hot pants, which Jason felt was a little unfair. The rest of them had had to suffer them. But Damian had threatened to eat anyone who tried to force them on him, ‘even the zombie freak’, so his costume had actual tights. He actually looked pretty cool, for Robin, by which Jason meant not completely ridiculous.

Jason had been roped into the whole thing by virtue of being the only one of them anything like fast or strong enough to actually take the kid down if he went AWOL. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t come to that, but he was equally sure the night was going to be a disaster, and there was no way he would turn down front-row seats for the inevitable train-wreck.

Things didn’t get off to a great start.

Damian was supposed to be just observing, but the first fight Bruce leapt into, Damian was right behind him. He at least didn’t try to eat the guy, but Jason was pretty that had more to do with the smell than any sense of restraint. The guy was obviously homeless, and Jason could smell him even from his rooftop perch.

“You’re supposed to be keeping out of sight!” Bruce snarled at Damian as soon as the guy was unconscious. “We agreed…”

“I lied,” Damian said, the ‘obviously’ unspoken but clear in his tone. “Besides, keeping out of sight is dull.”

“This is not about your amusement!”

“No, it’s about protecting the cattle. I can help with that. Leaving me on the sidelines is ridiculous when I could be helping.”

“You  _can_ help,” Bruce argued. “Once I’m sure I can trust you.”

“And how am I supposed to prove my trustworthiness, if you won’t let me help?!”

“For a start, you could stop referring to the people we save as cattle,” Bruce said, but it was obvious that he knew he wouldn’t win.

“Does it matter?”Damian asked dismissively. “I’ll still save them. Even cattle have value.”

Bruce looked about ready to have an apoplexy, so Jason dropped down to intervene. “Let him help,” he said to Bruce. “If he steps out of line, then you can tell me ‘I told you so’, and I won’t even shoot you for it. But the kid’s right. He’s tough, and an extra pair of hands never hurts. Besides, if he’s going to be the new Robin, you need to learn to fight with a ghoul at your back.”

Damian crossed his arms, looking smug and victorious, and Jason turned on him. “I don’t care what you call them in the League, in Gotham we don’t call the humans cattle. That’s just plain rude. Anyway, you’re half human aren’t you? So show some respect.”

Damian scowled at him, but didn’t immediately attack, which Jason had figured out was the best response you could hope for when scolding the boy. He didn’t take correction well.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was a quiet night, muggings and small-time drug deals for the most part, but Damian didn’t go unnoticed. Jason heard the word ‘ghoul’ whispered a few too many times, and he had a feeling it was going to have consequences none of them would like.

Damian mostly behaved himself. He only bit one person (taking a chunk out of his shoulder, disabling his arm just as he was about to take a swing with a knife) and censored himself about two-thirds of the time. Jason knew how hard that could be, remembered trying to train himself out of swearing and street slang so he’d fit in better at school after Bruce took him in, so he didn’t judge the kid for forgetting sometimes.

Bruce was also on his best behaviour, keeping scoldings to a minimum and actually praising Damian when he took down a thug without bloodshed. Damian was obviously shocked by the compliment, and for a moment his wide-eyed expression made him look like a normal kid.

For the most part, Jason kept out of the fights, watching father and son work. He didn’t have that burning need to be helping that Bruce and Dick both seemed to have, content to take the opportunity for an easy night. Besides which, his style had changed so much he was sure he and Bruce wouldn’t be able to work together smoothly anymore, would just get in one another’s way, the way they had when Jason was first starting.

With Damian, there was no such trouble. The kid was so fast that he always managed to move out of Bruce’s way before he became a problem. It was a fascinating contrast to watching Bruce work with Tim or Dick. Tim was always hyperaware of his surroundings, tracking everyone all the time, to the point that he forgot to watch his own back, and Dick just knew Bruce so well now that he didn’t have to think about it, was always where Bruce wasn’t, watching his back and covering his blind spots. The kid was more selfish, not bothering to watch out for Bruce at all, but never in his way either.

His fighting style was formal, his martial arts training obvious, but he wasn’t afraid to fight dirty if he needed to, and the one time someone tried to sneak up on him they were brought down by the razor edge of one of his kagune, growing out of Damian’s back and straight into the man’s chest.

Of the former Robins, Dick’s fighting style was showy, Tim’s quick and efficient, and Jason’s brutal. Damian was a mixture of all three. He didn’t have the strength to pull off a lot of Jason’s favourite moves, but he didn’t flinch from causing real harm, using his speed and the elegant moves taught to him by his mother to break bones with a sort of ruthless glee.

“This isn’t a game,” Bruce said to him once, when Damian laughed out loud at a thug’s poor form, and Damian just shook his head like he didn’t understand what Bruce was saying.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They crossed paths with Red Robin in Tricorner, and to Jason’s amusement, Tim seemed enthralled by Damian, actually stopping in the middle of a fight to watch him, only saved from a serious blow to the back of the head by one of Jason’s bullets.

He grinned up at him and waved his thanks, and Jason rolled his eyes. He didn’t understand how someone so terrifyingly intelligent could be so careless of his own safety. It was like the kid genuinely didn’t care about being hurt.

The only real trouble they ran into was around two, in Chinatown.

They came across a ghoul, young and not smelling of death, getting the shit kicked out of her by a gang of heavily scarred thugs. Jason recognised them at once, and his heart sank.

When they could, the Bats rescued scrappers, but most of the time they were too emotionally damaged, and there wasn’t enough support available to help them rebuild their lives, and so they ended up on the streets, in gangs like these, hunting down any ghoul they could find. Jason hated them with a passion, the ghouls they took on were never real threats, usually youngsters, but they were puritanical in their crusade and half the time the only way to take them out was to put them down.

“I’ll catch you up,” he said to Bruce, dropping into the street. Batman didn’t condone this kind of violence, but he also didn’t go out of his way to help ghouls, and what the Scrappers were doing wasn’t actually even against the law. Ghouls had next to no legal protections.

To Jason’s surprise, two sets of boots hit the street just after his own, and he turned to see Tim and Damian.

“I don’t like bullies,” Tim said, when Jason gave him a surprised look. Given Tim’s history, Jason would have expected him to be on the side of the Scrappers, but the kid never seemed to do the expected.

It was Damian that made the first move, kagune snapping out and his eyes bleeding red as he addressed the ghoul lying in the street. “Defend yourself! What kind of ghoul allows herself to be taken down by cattle?!”

Tim chuckled quietly. “There’s five of them and one of her,” he pointed out, twirling his staff idly. “And maybe she doesn’t want to hurt them. There are ghouls like that, you know.”

“Hardly ghouls at all,” Damian said, disgusted. “I don’t know if I can even be bothered to save her.”

“No one asked you too,” Jason said, unsure whether he was more amused or irritated.

He allowed his kagune to flow down both arms, encasing them in blood-warm steel-hard flesh. He didn’t usually use them on the streets, but with the scrapper gangs, he liked to make sure they knew they’d been taken down by a ghoul. “You humans going to scram, or am I going to have to persuade you?”

That had the desired effect, the five of them stepping away from their victim, who had the good sense to drag herself as far from the fight as she could manage on what looked like a broken leg.

“Always happy to kill monsters,” the one who seemed to be the leader said, face twisting into a snarl. “Even the ones that try and look like children.”

Tim glanced at Damian, and then back that the former scrapper. “He  _is_ a child. And you’re not fighting them.” He stepped in front of Jason, staff resting nonchalantly on his shoulder and hip cocked. “You’re fighting me.”

“Fuck off kid. You Bats are supposed to be on our side.”

“Really? Even when I know who you are, Jimmy Knuckles? All the Scrappers used to talk about you, you know. About how much you enjoyed your job. About how you were as bad at the Ghouls running the show.”

“The fuck do you know about it?” the man demanded.

Jason’s momentary annoyance at being pushed aside by the kid faded quickly. This was personal for Tim, and Jason could respect that.

“Oh, I’ve beaten you before you know. It’ll be a pleasure to do it again.”

“You’re him,” Jimmy said, eyes widening. “You’re that fucking psycho kid of Penguin’s.”

“Of Batman’s, actually,” Tim said, “but yes. That’s me.”

“And now you’re working with motherfucking ghoul scum? After what they fucking did to you? Where’s your fucking pride?!”

“Actually,” Tim said, stepping back and tipping his head to smile, wide and humourless and creepy as fuck, “they work for me. Jay, get rid of them.”

Jason would be angry at being used as a fucking attack dog if he wasn’t so amused by the Baby Bird knocking the feet out from under the gang like that. His own efforts had only ever strengthened the gangs. Maybe if it got around that they were being hunted by one of their own they might think twice before beating up helpless kids.

“You want me to kill them, boss?” he asked, shifting into an attack stance and waiting for the first Scrapper to come at him.

“Better not,” Tim said seriously. “If we kill them they can’t tell all their friends why following scum like Jimmy is a bad idea. I want that message to spread.”

“Five non-fatal maimings coming up,” Jason said, grinning. “Come on little D, you need the practice.”

“Don’t call me that,” Damian said, leaping for the nearest of the men, grabbing him by the throat and using his momentum to pull the man over backwards, putting him down hard. “And weaklings like this hardly constitute a challenge. Even an amateur like you could take them down.”

Jason took a vicious pleasure in stabbing the one Tim had addressed as Jimmy in the gut, glancing back to see Tim’s faint smile at the man’s screams. “Who’re you calling an amateur. I was trained by your parents.”

“Even the best teachers can’t be expected to do anything with a poor student,” Damian retorted, breaking a Scrapper’s nose with a beautifully executed flying kick. The kid’s small size didn’t seem to inconvenience him, his astonishing speed more than making up for it.

Just one of the Scrappers was still standing when Batman dropped down silently into the middle of the fight and blocked Jason’s kagune slash with one of his reinforced arm guards. “Red Robin, I’ve called the police. That man is bleeding to death.”

“He deserves it,” Baby Bird said. “You weren’t there Bruce, the way the others talked about him…”

“Robin.” Bruce’s voice was sharp. “We do not kill.”

“We weren’t killing them, Batman,” Damian said. “If we were, they would be dead. Even Red Hood couldn’t fail at a task that simple. We were simply taking them down. You said we take out monsters in order to protect the innocent. She,” he gestured at the young ghoul, shivering a few feet away from the fight, “is an innocent. Pathetic, but innocent. These men are monsters.”

“It’s no good trying to reason with him,” Jason said, disgusted. “I’m going to get the girl to a doctor. Party time’s over boys and girls.”

“I’ll help you,” Tim said. “And ensure these men are taken in by the proper authorities.”

“Red…”

“Batman.” Tim’s voice was flat, every bit as unemotional and impossible to argue with as Bruce’s.

Bruce sighed and turned away. “We will continue this conversation later,” he said firmly, before disappearing into the night.

“If you do kill them, save some for me,” Damian said before he followed, his speed making it easy for him to keep up with his father even without a line.

“You really going to let them live?” Jason asked, once father and son were out of earshot.

Tim shrugged. “I’m a Bat.”

“Yeah, but from the sound of it, these fuckers deserved it. I’ll even take the blame for you.”

Tim smiled at him. “That’s sweet of you, Hood, but Batman isn’t stupid.”

“B sees what he wants to. Always has.”

“They’ll get punished enough in jail,” Tim said with a shrug. “Emperor Blackgate will see to that.”

Ignatius Oglivey, formerly the Penguin's Seneschal and Major Domo, now self-proclaimed Emperor of Blackgate prison, was the only human in history to be jailed for taking part in the Scrapper business. It had been escaped slaves like the ones they’d just taken down who testified against him, and the rumours about what he did to those who found themselves in his prison were popular horror stories on the streets of Gotham.

Jason nodded approvingly. “Nasty. You gonna tell me what they did that was bad enough that you’d wish that fate on them?”

“I’ve only ever met one of them before,” Tim said. “And he didn’t do anything worse to me than a thousand other thugs before him. It wasn’t even a very hard fight.”

Jason watched him silently for a long moment, watched the bright white lenses that hid his eyes, and the small quiet smile he wore, and sighed.

“You should probably talk to someone about this shit Baby Bird,” he said eventually. “You are messed the hell up.”

“You like me this way,” Tim said, smug and certain. “Now, much as I’m enjoying our banter, hadn’t you better get that girl to some kind of doctor? Her leg’s broken pretty badly.”

Jason sighed. “You gonna be alright with these guys until the police come?” he asked. He still didn’t quite believe the kid wasn’t going to kill one of them, and he didn’t want him to have to move the bodies by himself.

Tim huffed out a small noise of amusement or annoyance. “I’m not going to kill anyone, Hood. Can’t promise I won’t trip and accidentally kick Jimmy in the gut a few times, but he’ll live. You go rescue some damsels and stop Batman and the kid from killing each other.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The girl weighed next to nothing when Jason picked up her, and even without trying, he could feel every one of her ribs. She was younger than he thought, too, maybe seventeen, and certainly homeless. She struggled at first, but relaxed when he told her what he was doing.

“Is that really Penguin’s Robin?” she asked. Tim had been right about the leg, no way he’ll be able to get her onto his bike without hurting her. Good thing it’s not too much of a walk to the doctor.

“He’s not Penguin’s,” Jason growled, annoyed at the idea. “He is the Robin who was a Scrapper though, yeah.”

“Oh. He seemed nice. I didn’t expect him to be nice.”

“You know about him?”

“My Dad used to work for Penguin,” she said. “He told me stories. Robin was why he quit. Said it wasn’t right. He said it was one thing when the Scrappers were born to it, and didn’t know any better, or when they were monsters, but he said Robin didn’t deserve it.”

“No one deserves it,” Jason bit out.

“I think so too. That’s why I don’t…” she stopped, looking embarrassed.

“Why you don’t eat? You’ve gotta eat, kid.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” she wailed, struggling a little in his arms. “I won’t kill anyone, I won’t!”

“Calm down kid, I’m not gonna make you. I know a guy, works for the morgue at Gotham Memorial. He supplies people like you.”

“I can’t pay,” she said. “Do I look rich to you?”

“Can you work?” Jason asked. “I can pay for you if you’ll work for me.”

“What work?”

He’d have expected the girl to have passed out from pain by now, but she’s not only awake but lucid.

“There’s a shelter in my territory, for ghoul kids with no parents. They always need more staff.”

“I don’t like kids.”

“Do you like starving to death?”

She looked at him consideringly for a long moment and then said, “I could do that. If the meat really is from people who’re already dead.”

“100% cruelty-free,” he assured her.

“Alright,” she decided. “Throw in the cost of the doctor, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jason left the girl with Dr Steve, a cheerful elderly human who for some unknown reason had dedicated his life and medical skills to helping out ghouls in need. He was one of only three people in the world Jason trusted enough to let them stitch him up.

Before he went, he gave the girl directions to the shelter. It was up to her whether or not she turned up, Jason wouldn’t force her, but he thought she would.

When he caught up again with Bruce and Damian, they were just saying goodnight to Dick. Jason leant against a wall in the shadow of a water tower and watched them leave. The speed of Damian’s movement was unbelievable. With a little practice, he’d probably be able to actually glide with his kagune.

“Any particular reason you’re lurking in the shadows like a massive creep?” Dick asked, when they’ve gone.

“Didn’t feel like talking to B,” Jason replied with a shrug.

“He said you stabbed a man,” Dick said, disapprovingly.

“Tim said he deserved it,” Jason said defensively.

“Tim isn’t always the best guy to take your moral guidelines from,” Dick said gently, like this was fucking news to Jason.

“What happened to him?”

“Huh?”

Jason rolled his eyes. Dick was being deliberately obtuse.

“What happened to the Baby Bird, when Penguin had him?”

Dick scrubbed a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’d picked up from Bruce sometime in his childhood. “He didn’t kill anyone. And Leslie’s pretty sure he wasn’t raped.”

That was good, but not really comprehensive. “Okay, and…?”

“And that’s all we know. He doesn’t like to talk about it, and Penguin covers his tracks well.”

“And B accepts that?!”

Dick sighed. “I think he knows that pushing is the worst thing he could do. Tim’s stubbonner than Bruce when it comes to his privacy, and he lashes out when you corner him.”

“You must have some idea though,” Jason pressed. Dick was a shameless gossip, and if anyone knew what was going on with Tim, it would be him.

Dick sighed again, rubbing absently at the skin just under the edge of his mask. “I know the other survivors are either terrified of him or worship him. I know Penguin’s men didn’t put up enough of a fight to be convincing when we came for him. I know he’s even more careful than he was before to keep himself covered. He’s always been a bit shy, but now he goes to ridiculous lengths to make sure Bruce and I never see him less than fully clothed.”

“You think he’s hiding scars?” Somehow Jason couldn’t picture pretty little Tim having scars, even though he surely must. You couldn’t work with Bruce without collecting a few.

“I think if even half the stories about what Penguin does to his scrappers are true, he must be,” Dick said bluntly.

Jason’s honestly impressed by how much Tim has managed to keep from the family. Even knowing the guy can lie to Batman (an impressive feat on its own) it’s still hard to believe no one knows anything more about his time with Penguin than that he probably wasn’t raped.

“What about his face?” Jason asked. “Surely Penguin unmasked him?”

Dick shrugged. “Best as I can work it out, Tim when so ballistic when anyone tried, they gave up.”

Jason shook his head. “No way. They could just knock him unconscious. Hell, they could have just killed him. His identity is more valuable than his worth as a scrapper.”

Dick scowled. “I’ve tried finding out more, but no one will talk, least of all Tim. He just says he doesn’t want to talk about it. But you can go ahead and try if you think you’ll have more luck than we have.”

“I will.” Maybe Tim would open up a bit more with Jason, knowing there’d be no judgement. He hoped so. Otherwise, the curiosity was going to eat him up inside.

“So what did you make of Damian’s first patrol?” Dick asked, deliberately changing the subject.

Jason grinned. “I think he’s going to make an excellent Robin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a few hints about Tim's time with Pengy. Don't worry, there will be more to come. I'm not so mean that I'd leave you in the dark forever. I can't promise when the next update will be though, work's pretty full on right now, and the deadline is looming for the Teen Wolf Reverse Bang. I'll try and keep the updates pretty regular though x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time. This and the next one were originally going to be one chapter, but then Tim and Jay got chatty and cuts had to be made!
> 
> Anyone who was wondering why Cass is Batgirl rather than Black Bat in this, this chapter should provide an explanation.
> 
> Warnings for: actually nothing. I know, I can't believe it. Nothing bad happens in this chapter, and no one gets murdered.

The next morning Jason was woken from a frustrating dream where Tim had agreed to let Jason eat him, but then turned out to be made of ginger bread instead of flesh, by phone ringing, loud and insistent.

It took him a long confused moment to place the noise, since he didn’t usually have a phone for more than a few days at a time. This one turned out to be a burner he’d been using to communicate with a kagune dealer he suspected might be based in Gotham.

As far as he knew, only two people had the number, both of them criminals, and neither of them had ever phoned him before. They’d been communicating via text.

Oracle might’ve had it, but he had one of her communicators that she used to contact him when she needed too.

He picked up the phone warily, and held it a little way from his ear when he answered, half expecting mind control waves or subsonic death-traps. Instead, it was Damian, sounding as close to emotional as the kid ever let himself get.

“Todd, you have to come to father’s ridiculous charity gala.”

“I really don’t.” Jason had always hated them, socialising with rich snobs and pretending to be interested in their dull conversation and pointless lives. Not having to attend them anymore was probably the best thing about being legally dead.

“If I have to go, so do you!” Damian insisted.

“Bruce is making you go?” For a moment Jason thought he must’ve somehow misunderstood. Jason’d known Damian for nearly two months, and Bruce was the only human he’d met that he’d never heard him threaten to kill, and that was only out of fear of Talia. Forcing him to mingle with Gotham’s high society sounded like a recipe for the world’s most well-dressed massacre. “What for?!”

“He says he wants to acknowledge me officially.” Damian sounded utterly lost, every bit as confused by his father’s behaviour as Jason was. “He says it’s the right thing to do.”

“Then there’ll be no talking him out of it,” Jason said. “Even Alfred can’t talk him down once he’s convinced himself something is the moral thing.”

“I don’t want to meet more humans,” Damian grumbles. “I’m polite to Grayson and Pennyworth and Drake. Isn’t that enough?”

“Apparently not. It’ll be school next, just you wait. He made all of us go.”

“I don’t like humans,” Damian all but wailed. “They’re breakable and petty and their food smells terrible and I don’t understand them!”

Jason laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, most humans feel that way too.”

“How is that supposed to make me feel better?” Damian demanded angrily. “This is exactly why Grandfather doesn’t socialise with cattle.”

“You grandfather’s the reason you’re here, kiddo. You’re stuck with the humans for now, might as well get used to them. And stop calling them cattle. The party won’t be that bad.”

“Drake said it would be four hours of awkwardness and tedium brightened only by the chance to laugh at me and father.”

“Alright, you got me. It’ll be horrific and by the end of it, you won’t know if you want to kill yourself or everyone else more. But it’s only one evening, and hopefully Bruce will see what a bad idea it is and not make you come to any more of them.” That had never worked for Jason, but he couldn’t deny the kid all hope.

“I will attend, and at least attempt civility with the cattle, so long as you are there suffering the same indignity.”

Which Jason understood was Damian speak for ‘don’t leave me alone’.

“I’ll brush off the old Tux,” he said, resigned to a horrible evening. On the other hand, he would get to see what Baby Bird looked like in a suit, and if it was half as good as Bruce or Dick, that would be a treat worth suffering for. “By the way, how did you get this number?”

“Drake gave it to me. He says he looks forward to seeing you there.”

Jason chuckled. “Of course he does. Drake is a sadistic little shit.”

(He ignores the fact that he hadn’t given Tim his number. The boy is a spy, it’s in his nature. All the Bats, even ex-Bats like Jason, have learnt that trying to keep any kind of secret from him, especially work-related ones, is impossible).

 

 

* * *

 

 

Before he got ready for the party, Jason had responsibilities to attend to. His active investigations could all wait, but he wanted to check on the girl he rescued, see if she had actually turned up to work.

The weather was miserable, but it was the sort of miserable that Jason liked, because it was so intrinsically Gotham, so he left his bike behind and set out on foot for the Halfway House, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hunched against the light drizzle.

He had a suit, even though he never wore it. His childhood with Brucehad  taught him the usefulness of the right presentation, so in the lockup where he kept things he didn’t need every day, things like his rocket launcher and the few photos he couldn’t bear to throw away and his first ever domino mask (stolen from the cave the first time he visited it after his resurrection), he had a properly tailored tuxedo and a couple of charcoal grey lounge suits. When he’d seen the kids, he would go home past the storage facility and collect what he needed.

The streets were quiet as he turned onto Court Road, the mist giving everything a grey washed-out look.

He’d always had something of an aversion to front doors, a childhood habit (because front doors meant the landlord seeing him and coming to demand the back rent) reinforced by his years with Bruce. He wasn't one to ever use a door when there was a perfectly good fourth floor window he could use instead. His one exception to the habit was the Halfway House. The children were all traumatised to some degree, and too many of them had lost their families in turf wars for Jason to ever risk sneaking in. He entered by the front door, and he even knocked.

The door had frosted glass panels, one of them still intact, the other hidden behind tape and cardboard. The place was secret enough that it didn’t get targeted by any of the city’s anti-ghoul groups, but casual vandalism was an inescapable part of daily life in Gotham.

Either his scent carried through the broken window, or his hood was distinctive enough to be recognised even through the frosted glass, because his knock was greeted with a pounding of feet and excited children’s voices calling out his name.

The house itself was the brainchild of Nora Reyes, who acted as housemother, carer and manager, but Jason had been involved since soon after his return to the city. It was the sort of place he wished had existed for him as a child, and he did his best to protect the place from the constant turf wars and Bat raids that were an integral part of life for the city's ghouls.

There was the sound of bolts being slid open and then the door flew open and he just had time to brace himself before Michael and Gabriella slammed into his legs, nearly sending him sprawling.

Michael was the first child he'd ever brought to the shelter. He’d found him, not much more than a year old at the time, curled up behind a trash can where his mother had hidden him. He’d found her body a few feet away, her battered half decapitated copse wrapped in beautiful almost transparent wing kagune that had proved too small and fragile to offer any real protection against the gang of ex-scrappers who had decided to make an example of her.

The kid had stayed with Jason in one of his safe houses for three days before Jason had found Nora and the Halfway House, and despite barely speaking the whole time he was there, Michael had bonded with Jason like a duckling imprinting on a sock puppet.

Jason swung the kid up onto his hip, ruffling Gabriella’s hair in passing. He didn’t like touching the children, sure that he’d hurt them in some way, and he liked holding them even less, but Michael was persistent and completely unafraid, and Jason had learnt it was easier to give into his demands right away. He’d cave in the end, might as well save some time.

“How’s it going?” he asked Kayla, one of the oldest kids and de facto leader of the ragtag group of street kids and orphans who made the House their home, as he followed her inside. “How’s school?” Kayla was attending Midtown High, at her own insistence. Jason thought it was a truly terrible idea, but she was determined, and Nora thought it would be good for her. “The sooner she starts mixing with humans, the better she’ll blend in,” she’d pointed out when Jason voiced his objections.

“It’s okay,” Kayla said, with a nonchalant shrug. “I hit Jimmy Noakes cos he called me anorexic for not eating school dinners, but I only hit him as hard as a human would, and I only got detention for a week.”

“Well you’re doing better than I ever did then,” Jason told her. He’d been human in high school, but he’d also been a Bat and a former street kid, and he’d spent more time in detention than he did in a classroom some weeks. He didn’t bother telling the girl she needed to practice eating human food. That was her decision to make, and being a teenage girl helped. Any reluctance to eat would be put down to fussiness, or poor body image, rather than a taste for human flesh.

Nora was in the kitchen, cleaver in hand, bloody to the elbow as she minced a great slab of meat fine enough for the youngest children to manage it.

“Hey kid,” she said, without turning around. “Come to check on your new recruit?”

“She turned up then?” Jason asked. He’d had a good feeling about the girl, but he wouldn’t honestly have blamed her for getting cold feet about the whole deal. Strange men offering you food and medicine and then telling you to come alone to an address you didn’t know was everything homeless kids learned to fear.

“She’s down in the basement, doing the washing,” Nora said. “Delicate stomach that one. Took one look at the kiddies' lunch and turned green as a frog. She’s a good worker so far though.”

“Just try not to scare this one off,” Jason warned her. Nora was gentle as a lamb with the kids, but an absolute dragon with everyone else, and her sharp tongue accounted for as many lost assistants as Bats and other ghouls put together.

“She doesn’t strike me as the type to scare easy. But you can ask her yourself, after you lay the table. There’s nine of us today.”

Jason had learned better than to talk back so he just said, “Yes Ma’am,” and headed for the dining room.

He deposited Michael on the sideboard and between them they set the table, Michael handing Jason the mats and cutlery one at a time, small feet drumming a rhythm against the wood.

“What do you think of the new girl?” Jason asked, realising as he does that he never asked her name.

“She wouldn’t play with us,” Michael said, “but Kayla says she’s just shy.”

“Maybe she’s scared?” Jason suggested. “You kids are pretty terrifying.”

He kept his voice light, so Michael would think it was a joke, but honestly, nothing scared him more than those kids, how delicate and vulnerable they were, how much danger they were in every day simply because of their species.

“One day I will be,” Michael said. “When I’m big like y , and get my wings. Then the bad guys will all be scared of me.”

Jason’s heart ached at the idea of tiny scrappy little Michael in any kind of fight. He didn’t want the boy to grow up. He didn’t want him ever to get old enough that people would know he was a ghoul. Being a ghoul in Gotham gave you better prospects than a lot of places, since the Bats tried to arrest ghouls rather than killing them on sight, but it was still a brutal life, and usually a short one. Dr Steve reckoned the average life expectancy of his patients was around 22, and that was for Ghouls with access to medical treatment.

“I bet your wings will be real beautiful,” he tould Michael, sincerely. His mothers had been.

Michael smiled at him, and passed him the last knife and fork. Jason surveyed his work, checking that he hadn’t forgotten anything, or set the places the wrong way round, and then nodded, satisfied.

“I’m going to go see…” he paused, remembering he didn’t actually know the girl’s name, “the new girl. Okay?”

“She’s called Steph,” Michael said with a bright smile. “She’s downstairs washing the clothes.”

“Thank you,” Jason told him, and allowed himself the small indulgence of pressing a quick kiss to the child’s forehead. He couldn’t hurt the kid with a kiss, and anyway, Michael’s need for affection far outweighs Jason’s own fear.

He found Steph fighting with the elderly tumble dryer in the basement. She looked up when he approaches, then returned to her work, apparently unimpressed. “Oh, it’s you. Do you know anything about tumble dryer maintenance and repair?”

“I’m a vigilante ghoul ex-Bat,” he told her, amused. “I can do bombs, guns and cars. That’s pretty much the extent of my engineering know-how.”

“Well you still know more than me,” she said, sitting back on her heels and giving the machine a thump. “I’ve only ever used one of these things in the Laundromat before.”

“I can have a look,” Jason offered doubtfully. People always assumed that he would be able to fix things, because he was big and unmistakably masculine and obviously from a poor background. Which was ridiculous, because of all the Robins, alive and undead, the most technical was undoubtedly Baby Bird, who was skinny and girly and as posh as they come. “No promises though.”

Steph heaved a sigh of relief and handed him a screw-driver. “There’s doesn’t seem to be any power. I’ve tried pressing all the buttons, and turning the little dial thing, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference.”

“Sounds technical,” Jason said, hauling the machine away from the wall so he could check it was actually plugged in. “Apart from dead tumble dryers, how’s your first day going.”

She shrugged. “Not bad. Nora seems okay, and the kids aren’t too bad. Noisy, but pretty well behaved.”

There was a long moment of silence, while Jason tried to follow the tangled wire back to its source without getting it mixed up with the freezer or washing machine lines.

Eventually, Steph said, “Are you really part human?”

“Hmm?”

“I was talking to Kayla. She said you used to be a human. That you got Ghoul bits… sewed on. Is that true?”

“Pretty much.”

“Oh. Then how do you eat? You used to be a human. How can you eat other humans?!”

“I know what it’s like to be hungry,” Jason said. Compared to the hungry days, when his mom had spent all the money for food on one more hit, and it was too cold or wet to beg, and he was too scruffy looking to not get caught stealing, eating human flesh was nothing. He was a ghoul, it was natural. Truth be told, he probably would have done it then, too, just to get something in his belly. “When you’ve been hungry, you learn not to be fussy.”

“Is that what you think I am? Fussy?!”

“I think you’re unrealistic,” Jason told her honestly. He switched over the plugs for the washing machine and tumblr dryer. “It’s all very well having morals. But this is Gotham, and you’re a Ghoul. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to take your pound of flesh.”

“But why?” Steph demanded. “You used to be a Bat, right? Well isn’t the whole point of Batman that things don’t need to be terrible? That just because murder and crime and blood are the status quo right now, it doesn’t have to be that way forever?” Her eyes were shining as she spoke, every bit as devout a believer as any Robin, and Jason shook his head in bewilderment at any ghoul believing in B’s mission like that.

“I think it’s got more to do with Batman’s issues,” he said dryly. Then a thought struck him. A way of pairing off two of his problems so they solved each other. “Wayne Industries are developing flesh substitutes for Ghouls who don’t want to eat people,” he said, flicking the switch on and off a couple of times. “They need tasters. A ghoul who can tell them what they need to change. I think you’d be perfect.”

“How do I know it’s safe?” she asked suspiciously.

“Hey, I vouch for it, and I haven’t led you wrong so far, right? Plus, if you do it, I promise to introduce you to Batman.”

Steph’s whole face lit up like it was Christmas come early. “Really?! And Batgirl?!"

Jason chuckled. "And Batgirl."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there anyone you guys are dying to see in this verse? We've now met all but two of the Batfam, and most of the big name villains, but I'm sure there's plenty of people I've forgotten.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks, see end notes for more detailed warnings (contains spoilers)
> 
> I feel like I should have a warning for Tim and Jason's bizarre attempts are flirting as well. They're not very good at it.

Damian looked natural in a suit in a way Jason never had, his arrogance giving him the perfect air of entitled wealth that Jason never managed to pull off.

Bruce and Dick looked the same as they always did, a movie star and a Calvin Klein model respectively.

Jason, on the other hand, looked like a security guard at best, and a really dodgy waiter at worst. He’d never quite been able to master that effortless poise that Bruce and Damian had been born with, and which Dick and Tim had learnt to copy. If he tried it he just ended up looking awkward, like he was playing pretend, so he stuck for glowering and looking threatening. A lot of people found it attractive, and most of those who didn’t were too scared to question whether he had a right to be there.

He didn’t have a right to be there of course. Damian’s demands had not been accompanied by an invitation, and he never stuck with any alias long enough for Bruce to be able to add him to the guest list, even if he wanted it.

Instead, Jason got in the way he usually did when he was gate crashing a fancy party - by picking out an unattractive older woman who looked either arrogant or desperate enough to believe he might be interested in her, and attaching himself to her side. He could feel the eyes on him, wondering if he was a bodyguard or an escort, and it amused him, in a dark way, how easily an expensive suit and some quick makeup could transform a creature of nightmare like him into an attractive prospect for a one-night stand.

He detached himself from her ten minutes in, taking up a station in a corner near the refreshments table, and putting on a pair of aviators and a dead Bluetooth earpiece that turned him from kept man into hired security. It was amazing how a couple of small props could transform people’s perceptions of you, and it was unlikely anyone except his family would notice that his suit was far too good for a security guard, or that the earpiece wasn’t even on.

The corner he’d chosen gave him an excellent view of the room, even if it was nauseatingly close to the canapes, and he passed the time by watching Bruce and Dick attempt to cover for Damian’s rudeness. The boy was talking with the same stiff decorum he’d used at the Iceberg, but with none of the respect, and Jason wished he could hear what he was saying, because the expressions on the faces of pretty much everyone he talked to for more than a minute suggested it was pure comedy gold.

He hadn’t spotted the replacement, but he knew none of the family were going to be able to get away with avoiding the party. Even Batgirl was there, in a slinky black sequin number that did nothing to hide the predatory way she moved. He couldn’t be sure from a distance, but he’d be willing to bet good money that she was carrying even more weapons than he was. (Though where she could have hidden them in that outfit, he couldn’t imagine).

People didn’t seem to be paying him much attention, so he risked helping himself to a glass of champagne. He wouldn't drink it of course, but he rather liked the smell, and it gave him something to do with his hands.

When Bruce stepped up onto the dais at one end of the room to begin thanking everyone for attending and talking at unnecessary length about how important the Martha Wayne foundation was, Jason felt a warm presence appear beside him, and turned to see Tim, impeccably dressed and sipping something blood red from a martini glass.

“I thought they were only serving champagne,” Jason said.

“They are. I helped myself. I’ve never liked champagne. The bubbles go up my nose.”

Jason chuckled, and Tim grinned at him. His tuxedo was cut very narrow, slim trousers and tiny slivers of lapel, and it all served to emphasise his slight build, making him look thinner and a lot more harmless than he really was, giving a coltish, just-going-through-a-growth-spurt impression that was matched by the slightly awkward way he was holding himself, nothing like Red Robin. Jason was fascinated by the way the kid could just pull on another skin. All the Robins learned to act, but Jason had always been too firmly himself to be good at it. Tim, on the other hand, was a natural, swapping out faces as easily as clothes.

Jason liked the suit on him, liked the way it turned him into a concealed weapon, liked that he was one of only a handful of people who had any idea what was hidden beneath the clean lines of the tailoring. It was hot, though not so hot that he couldn’t focus on other things.

Tim in a suit was perfectly bearable. What he hadn't allowed for was the fact that Timothy Drake-Wayne, heir to Wayne Industries, wore glasses.

Jason was discovering all kinds of exciting new things about himself since Damian's arrival. Like the fact that the sight of Tim, all pressed and proper, in his thick-framed glasses, made Jason want to make him _bleed_. He wanted to make a mess of him, ruin his perfect mask, bring the strange blood-soaked thing that was Tim's real face out into the open where everyone could see it.

"You, ah, look nice," he choked out, glad that the aviators he was wearing covered his eyes, which had to be blood red. God, he wanted to hold Tim down and force feed him his own flesh.

"So do you," Tim replied, giving him a long slow once over. “Nice suit. You should probably try and look a bit less like you’re thinking about tearing someone’s throat out with your teeth though, if you don’t want to be noticed.”

Jason had to actually close his eyes against the mental image, the memory of Tim’s blood, the way the cartilage would crunch beneath his teeth. The way Tim would look with blood dripping from his mouth as he struggled to breath.

Christ, sometimes he impressed himself with the levels of his depravity.

“We all have our ways of getting through these things,” he replied because it was true. None of them were naturals at this sort of thing, even bright outgoing Dick dreaded being forced to put on a suit and walk on his feet like a normal person.

He remembered distinctly the first time he had to attend one of these things, equal parts terrified and bored. The whole evening had been made more bearable when Dick showed him the collection of things he’d pick-pocketed from the ruder guests to pass the time.

“I give them subtly terrible investment advice,” Tim said with a grin. “By tomorrow, half the people here will have moved stocks into a fund run by the Calculator. They’ll have a few months of amazing profit, and then all the money will disappear overnight, and they’ll never get it back.”

Jason laughed. “Impressively evil, kid. I just plan out bizarrely brutal deaths for them.” That was something that he’d been doing since he was a kid. The only thing being a ghoul had changed is how many of them he wanted to eat, or in the case of one particularly obnoxious man who’d been treating his wife like shit all night, sell to Penguin as a scrapper.

“Oh well I do that to, but I assumed that went without saying,” Tim said, sipping whatever it was he was drinking. It smelled sugary, but that was all Jason could distinguish, and he’d had to train himself to do even that. “You see that woman there, the one in the orange dress that clashes with her fake tan? Her I’d take out to Nevada and stake out in the desert. Leave her to bake. Unoriginal, admittedly, but satisfyingly gruesome.”

Jason grinned. “I was thinking about torturing that bug eyed little man who keeps looking at Cassie’s ass,” he admited. “Experiment with all the possible meanings of the phrases ‘eye-popping’.”

“He’s the head of the Gotham National Bank,” Tim said, laughing. "And I think you’d have to fight Cass for the chance. She always knows when people are watching her, and she has a low tolerance for creeps.”

“What about her?” Jason asked, pointing to an older woman wearing a dress designed for a woman thirty years and three sizes smaller than her. “The one who’s actually brought a Chihuahua in her handbag?” The dog had been dyed a light violet, and the woman apparently soaked the poor thing in lavender oil, because it stank.

“Well I’d starting by giving the dog a taste for human flesh…” Tim began, then suddenly held up a hand to silence them both. “I want to watch this,” he hissed. “Here comes Damian.”

Jason set down his untouched champagne and turned his attention to the stage, preparing to enjoy whatever train wreck Bruce was about to be a part of.

“Some of you have already met him tonight,” Bruce was saying on stage, his arm wrapped firmly around the shoulders of a decidedly rebellious looking Damian. “But I want to introduce him formally to you all.

“This is my son Damian. I only recently discovered his existence, but I am delighted to have found him, and I know his brothers are as well.”

“Oh yes, another little brother is just what I needed,” Dick said dryly, just loud enough to be heard by everyone. The audience tittered appreciatively, as they were meant to, and Jason was grudgingly impressed by the way his family could hold a crowd.

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” he asked Tim.

Tim grinned. “Oh, I’m the black sheep of the family, didn’t you know? Bruce had to cover for my absence when Penguin had me, so he let it be known that I’d run away with a girl. The papers had a field day. Now I’m officially the bad boy of the Wayne clan.”

“Quite an achievement,” Jason said, thinking of Bruce’s public persona.

“Oh if you weren’t dead, I’d gracefully cede the title to you,” Tim assured him. “Even illicit affairs with French schoolgirls can’t match zombie murderer.”

Jason laughed. “French schoolgirls?!”

“According to the Gotham Post. I don’t actually know any French schoolgirls, though if they’re all up for the kinds of things the Post suggested I’d been doing, I might have to arrange a meeting with some.”

Jason’s stomach clenched with sudden jealously, and he barely suppressed the growl that wanted to force its way out of his throat at the idea of anyone else touching Tim.

“In my experience, Catholic girls aren’t nearly as fun as rumour would suggest,” he said, aiming for nonchalant, and probably missing by miles. (Never mind that his sexual experience consisted of a grand total of three kisses and a couple of quick gropes in high school, and Talia.)

“That’s disappointing,” Tim said with a grin. “Ah well, I always preferred older women anyway. Or men. Or anyone really. Not that it matters now. I imagine the sight of my scars would shock people nearly as much as yours.”

The question of just what Tim was hiding beneath his clothes flashed through Jason’s mind, as it had at least twice a day since his conversation with Dick.

“Hey, chicks dig scars,” Jason said, mock offended.

“Oh yeah, sure the sight of your torso has them tripping over themselves.”

“Hey, I do alright,” Jason said. It was a lie, but also not. He hadn’t slept with anyone since he left the League, but until he watched Tim eat human flesh, he hadn’t wanted to. Death and resurrection and Talia hadn’t been kind to his libido.

“You must know different girls from me then,” Tim said, his tone light but his eyes tired and tight in a way that gave away his real feelings.

Jason considered pressing, using that moment of weakness to try and lever the truth out of Tim like the pearl out of an oyster, but it was only a momentary impulse, quickly quashed. It wouldn’t work, and even if it did, it would be the end of any chance he has of Tim willingly letting Jason find out what he tasted like.

“French school girls, man,” he said instead. “Those girls are into some fucked up shit.”

“Must be, if they’re letting you near them,” Tim retorted, but the strain had left his eyes. “I’ve heard stories, you know.”

“Like you’re any better,” Jason said with a grin, safe in the knowledge that the stories had to have been nonsense. Unless Talia had started gossiping with the Robins, but that seemed unlikely.

“Now, now, Robins don’t kink shame. It’s the like the first rule, after the one about ignoring the comments supervillains make about our legs.”

“Oh you know nothing about those comments, Baby Bird,” Jason said with a laugh. “You got tights.”

“Eventually. The first few missions, I wore a carbon copy of your outfit.”

Jason felt his brain stall at the mental image. “Really?! You wore the booty shorts?” He was so distracted by imagining it (old pictures of Dick’s legs in the shorts had played a big part in Jason’s sexual awakening, he refuses to be ashamed of that) that he forgot to be angry about being replaced.

“Not a good look,” Tim said, eyes sparkling with amusement. “This was before I’d had any training. I was a weedy little computer nerd whose parents regularly forgot to feed him, and I looked it. I mean, I’m not exactly big now, but back then I looked like I was made of twigs.”

The image in Jason’s mind morphed from pornographic to downright cute. He just betted Tim was the most adorable kid. “That’s why you went for the tights?”

“That, and it felt weird dressing the same and you and Dick. Like I was taking something that didn’t belong to me.”

Jason froze, all his muscles locking tight, his fingers going white knuckled on the stem of the glass he was holding. So long, so many years hating and resenting the kid for replacing him, and all that time… All that time, Tim had known. Tim had known the title wasn’t Bruce’s to pass on, and he’d tried to honour that.

He took a deep breath, forced himself to relax, pushed back the memories of the madness that had taken him after Talia brought him back. “You…” He choked on the words, had to force them out. “You deserved to be Robin. You weren’t… I was dead. Robin wasn’t mine anymore.”

Tim gave him a shrewd look, like he could see everything that was running through Jason’s mind, and then smiled, sudden and bright as the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “Maybe I’ll dig out the booty shorts then, since Damian doesn’t want them.”

Jason couldn’t help the wave of laughter that forced its way out of his throat, loud and uncontrollable as if he’d been Joker gassed, making people turn to stare at him as he laughed and laughed, drowning out Brucie’s boring speech.

Tim looked equal parts concerned and smug, and Jason had never wanted to kiss anyone as much as he wanted to kiss Tim.

“Tim,” Bruce said mildly from the platform, “at least wait till after the speeches.”

There were a few titters from the more liberal members of Gotham’s elite and Tim grinned wide and rakish and impressively convincing for something so fake.

“Get to the point and maybe I won’t need a pretty face to keep myself amused,” he drawled.

“My son, ladies and gentlemen,” Bruce said with a laugh. “A little too much of a chip off the old block.”

There was some laughter, and more than a few raised eyebrows, but Bruce had command of the room again, everyone paying attention to him, and mostly ignoring Tim and Jason.

“You know,” Tim said thoughtfully, “I think I just came out. Between me and Damian, the Gazette will be wall to wall Waynes tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait,” Jason replied. “I’m looking forward to knowing exactly what kind of torrid love affair we’re having.”

“French schoolgirls everywhere will weep,” Tim said, straight faced.

“No they won’t,” Jason said with a smirk. “They’ll think about us when they touch themselves at night.”

To his great delight, Tim actually blushed at that, a delicate pink flush creeping up from his neck. There was a fair chance it was faked, like there was with every expression Tim displayed, but it still made Jason feel like he’d won some kind of prize.

“Asshole,” Tim muttered, without heat, and Jason knocked their shoulders together companionably and grinned at nothing. He was actually enjoying himself, which was unheard of for one of Brucie’s interminable functions.

On the dais, Bruce was talking about his mother, and Damian was looking dangerously bored. The kid’s brains would be astonishing if you didn’t know who his parents were, and he had a short attention span for anything that didn’t involve bloodshed.

Currently Damian’s attention was focussed squarely on the unpleasant man Jason had noticed eying up Batgirl earlier in the evening, the one Tim said was head of the Gotham Bank. The man was standing behind her, and being very unsubtle about the fact that he’s staring at her ass. Batgirl had obviously decided it wasn’t offensive enough to be worth making a fuss over, or perhaps had planned some horribly violent revenge for when the man was least expecting it, but Damian clearly wasn’t taking the implied insult to his adoptive sister so well.

Damian was learning, in his own strange way, to get along with the family. Babs he knew only as a disembodied voice in his ear, directing him towards trouble during patrols, and probably because of that, he respected her. He hadn’t had to deal with the, to him, almost insurmountable problem of her humanity.

Jason he considered beneath him in several fundamental ways, but was bright enough to recognise that Jason knew more than him about being a big city ghoul and a Wayne, and so he was broadly polite, and hadn’t tried all that hard to hurt him yet. If Jason were feeling optimistic, he might even say that the kid was fond of him, in his idiosyncratic way, but it was hard to be sure with Damian.

Tim, being closest in age and the last person to wear the Robin identity, was regarded with a kind of fierce rivalry which would probably had turned into genuine animosity if Tim hadn’t been quite so relaxed about Damian’s ghoulish nature. As it was, Tim was his ally inside the manor, the one human who could be relied upon to fight his corner, and Damian, clearly unfamiliar with friendship of any kind, didn’t know how to deal with that. He settled for being slightly less unpleasant to him than everyone else, but trying harder to maim him when they sparred.

Dick was pretty much impossible to dislike, as Jason had learned since his return from the grave, and Damian clearly resented it. He avoided him whenever he could, and spent any time in his presence tensed to flee, like he thought Dick might attack at any moment. (Given his feelings about hugs, that wasn’t an inaccurate summary).

But of all of them, even Jason, Cassie was the one Damian had the most in common with. They sparred often, silent except for the noise of flesh hitting flesh, and it was the only time outside a hunt when Jason ever saw him smile. They rarely spoke, but they didn’t need too when both of them had violence as their mother tongue. It was rare to see loquacious and opinionated Damian quiet for any length of time, but with Batgirl he’d happily sit in silence for long periods, even when they weren’t fighting. Sometimes they read together, sprawled out across the brown leather reading couches in the library. Batgirl, for all her fierceness, understood peace, and she was slowly teaching it to Damian.

One result of their silent bond was that Damian was fiercely protective of her, despite the fact that she was the only one of them fast enough to actually hit him on the mats. She was important to him, and Damian didn’t have any way of expressing those feelings other than beating anyone that looked at her funny to a bloody pulp.

“I think Damian’s going to jump that guy,” he muttered, and Tim chuckled.

“I hope not. Bruce has a lot invested in the bank.”

Jason turned to stare at Tim in open mouthed astonishment. “Why?! It’s the Gotham Bank! It gets robbed on a weekly basis and most of the staff are working for one of the Ghouls!”

Tim laughed. “Image. It’s important that Bruce be seen to be supporting Gotham. Even if that means losing a few thousand dollars to Two Face or Riddler every now and then.”

Jason pulled a face. “Politics,” he said, disgusted.

“You’re just as much a politician as he is,” Tim pointed out. “Just because your dealings have more to do with blood than money...”

It was a fair point, but Jason wasn’t a fair man, so he ignored it.

“Bet you $50 Damian attacks that creep before the end of the evening,” he said instead.

Tim snorted. “I see your $50 and raise you four blood-pops. Cass is going to snap any minute now.”

On the stage, Damian’s scowl bled into a smug smile, and Jason looked across the crowd to see Batgirl looking suspiciously innocent while behind her, the head of Gotham bank tried to pretend he hadn’t just been kicked extremely hard in the balls.

“Damnit baby bird, that is not fair! You can’t taunt me with blood-pops.”

Tim grinned, wide and toothy. The light reflecting off his drink painted spots of blood red in his eyes, and Jason was so far gone for him, it wasn't even funny.

“Life isn’t fair,” Tim said seraphically. “Anyway, Bruce is finally done. You should probably go see Damian; he looks ready to kill everyone in the room.”

Damian, being steered down from the stage by Bruce, did indeed look murderous. More murderous than usual.

“Why do I have to babysit the baby monster?” Jason muttered. He wouldn’t normally mind, but he didn’t want the moment he and Tim ware sharing to end.

“Well I can hardly do it,” Tim said, grinning. “I’m the black sheep, remember? I’m a bad influence and definitely not to be trusted with children.”

Jason groaned. “I’ll get you back for this Baby Bird, you see if I don’t.”

Tim laughed. “I’m looking forward to it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Enjoying the party?” Jason asked, appearing at Damian’s elbow.

“It is horrific, and you abandoned me to flirt with Drake,” Damian said shortly. “I may never forgive you.”

“No need to be melodramatic.”

“Five people have ruffled my hair!” Damian exclaimed, a little too loudly. “An obese woman told me I was a 'good little chap'!”

“Okay,” Jason said, wincing at the idea of anyone touching a ghoul without permission. “Probably time to get you of here then, yeah?”

“The time to get out of here was several hours ago,” Damian replied, but he relaxed a little. Jason felt kinda bad. He was meant to be here as moral support for the kid, not to flirt with his adoptive brother.

“I’ll tell Bruce,” Jason said. “Try not to get in any trouble while I negotiate your release, yeah?”

Damian rolled his eyes, relief turning him into a normal kid instead of a moment. “Whatever, Todd. Just get me out of here.”

Jason grinned. “Be back in a minute, kiddo.”

Bruce was surrounded by a group of sycophants, in full Brucie mode, the charm dialled up 100, his body made lose by the champagne he hadn’t drunk. Jason considered how to play it. Was he an employee, or an old friend, or a toy boy? Toy boy was tempting, but with the glasses and earpiece employee was easiest.

He touched Bruce’s shoulder, tapping twice in quick succession to let him know it wasn't just a casual touch, and said, “Mr Wayne?”

Bruce turned, and to his credit, he only stared blankly for a second. “Jay?”

“It’s time I took Master Damian home,” Jason said firmly. “It is well past his bedtime.”

Damian, despite Bruce and Alfred’s best attempts, was still primarily nocturnal (not a whole lot of call for ninjas during the day), but the crowd didn’t know that.

“Is it?” Bruce glanced at his watch. “Well look at that! I’d quite lost track of the time. Yes of course, Jay, take him home. I’ll stay a little longer. You can get him to bed by yourself?”

“That’s what you pay me for, Mr Wayne,” Jason said, smiling internally. In truth he was being paid for his time with Damian, but in something far more precious than money. Baby Bird was the only Bat to have stepped into his territory in a month, and it had been bliss.

“I’ll see you back at the manor then Jay,” Bruce said with a nod. “Don’t wait up.”

The woman he was with, young and pretty enough to not look out of place on Brucie’s arm, tittered, and Jason thought ruefully that she was in for a hell of a disappointment if she thought Bruce is going to fuck her. How none of his one night stands had got together and figured out he never actually had sex was beyond Jason, but it amused him no end.

“See you later, Mr Wayne,” Jason said, and melted back into the crowd, relieved.

It wasn't late. Maybe he’d take Dami hunting on their way home. Maybe they’d persuade Baby Bird to come with them. He hadn’t been out with them since that first time, and Jason had missed him.

He came to stop by the pillar where he left Damian, and glanced around. No sign of the kid. Frowning, he scanned the room.

No sign of him, and when he took a deep breath he realised with a jolt of sudden horror that he couldn’t smell him either. Instead what filled his nose was a strong scent of lavender and dog.

Shit shit shit shit shit. The dog had been a disguise, an attempt to cover a ghoul’s scent. Someone, one of the Ghouls, had Damian.

What if it was Joker? Jason felt his mind slow down, horror and shock overwhelming him at the idea of another Robin… The world in front of his eyes was going fuzzy, and for a moment he swore he could feel teeth in his flesh, could feel his collar bone shatter as Joker wrenched his arm round into a more accessible position.

Isn’t real, he told himself. Not real, not real, you’re alive, you’re whole, Talia fixed you….

When a hand touched his shoulder, tentative and gentle, his spun, hands out and teeth bared, to find Bruce, expression wide-eyed and terrified.

“Tim,” Bruce said, and Jason couldn’t remember ever seeing this kind of fear on Batman’s face. He wondered if it was how Bruce looked when he realised Joker had taken Jason, but no, not thinking about that, push it away, push it down, not real not real. “Tim’s gone.”

Jason’s heart felt like it had been filled with ice. “Damian too,” he said, keeping his voice as even as he could. “The woman with the dog…”

“Fuck!” He’d never heard Bruce swear before. That scared him more than the memories, or the missing boys, or the faint scent of lavender. Bruce was scared, Batman, the immovable pillar around which Gotham was built, was scared. “I thought I recognised her, she looked like one of Penguin’s people, but I thought she was just here to spy on us!”

Jason was vaguely aware that he was shaking. “Definitely Penguin?” he asked, keeping his voice as calm as he could. “Not…”

“No!” Bruce’s voice was forceful, overloud. “No Jason, it’s not Joker, I would never….”

Jason ignored him, focused on breathing. Penguin had them, not Joker. History wasn’t repeating itself. It wasn’t going to be Tim or little Damian being eaten alive by that monster.

He realised he was saying it out loud, repeating ‘not Joker, not Joker’ over and over, half under his breath.

“Not the Joker,” Bruce said softly. “Might be better if it was. Anything rather than knowing Penguin’s taking Tim back, back to…”

He trailed off and Jason froze. Shit, he hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in his own bad memories. In his mind, Dick’s voice whispered ‘Leslie’s _pretty_ sure he wasn’t raped.’ That monster had Tim. That monster had Damian.

“We’ll get them back,” he said, trying to convince himself more than Bruce. “We’ll get them back.”

“Yes,” Bruce said, and his voice was bleak, hopeless. “But what if we don’t?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Detailed warnings: Jason has good reason to believe that the Joker has kidnapped Tim and Damian, triggering a flashback which includes a very brief description of his death. Tim and Damian are taken by Penguin, and chapter includes references to what mighthave happened to Tim last time, and the implication that those things might happen again, to both him and Damian.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm sorry. I really am. I'll try not to make you wait too long for the next chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for kidnapping, imprisonment, discussion of that things that happened to Tim last time Penguin had him and the things he fears will happen this time. Mention of threats of rape and being eaten alive.

Damian came fully awake in the time between two heartbeats, hard won instinct keeping his breathing from changing and his eyes from opening.

He was't in his bed at the manor, or the one in the Cradle. He wasn't in a bed at all; he was lying on the ground. He tested it with one hand, keeping his movements as subtle as he could, and fould some kind of rubber matting.

The floor sloped, very very slightly, and the texture of the air told him he was indoors, but in a big room, a warehouse maybe, or something like it, and that it was mostly empty. Ther was no heating and when he strained for it, he could make out only one other heartbeat.

He took a deep breath, smelled musk and blood and bile and piss and Tim and lavender.

Lavender… The memories came back all at once, the woman with the dog, making polite conversation somewhat more willingly than earlier now that he had an out. Watching Jason across the room rather than focussing on the woman. Spotting Tim across the hall and making eye contact with him a moment before a handkerchief was pressed over his nose, a smell he didn’t recognise which overpowered even the lavender, something sickly sweet like the cake Alfred had made the day before, like how Tim had described the human perception of rotting flesh.

There had been darkness then, deep and all-enveloping. Vague confused memories of being dragged along, his legs still working even as his mind shut down. Memories of the sound of fighting, of snarling and keening and the smell of familiar blood.

His eyes shot open. Tim’s blood. He’d been taken and Tim had been hurt trying to save him.

He sat up, uncaring now about who might see him, turning towards the other heartbeat. It was too fast, too hard, panicked, sounded like the pulse of the humans who saw Damian and Jason coming before they died.

“Drake,” he hissed. “Drake…”

“I’m, I’m here,” Drake said, and his voice was rough, like he’d been screaming or crying. “I’m here Dami.”

“The woman…”

“One of Mr Cobblepot’s people, as it turns out,” Tim said, and his tone was full of something like laughter but with no humour in it. “He always did say he’d get me back in the end.”

Damian’s eyes finally found Tim in the darkness, his small form huddled in the corner of a cage identical to the one Damian was in, the bars close enough to be inescapable, but open enough to offer no privacy. No furniture, just a drain in the centre of the floor.

“They came for me, not you,” Damian said. “Why didn’t you let them take me, Drake? You must have known…”

“That you’re my baby brother, and it’s my job to protect you as much as I can,” Tim said, with conviction. “Not gonna lie, if I’d realised sooner whose men it was taking you, I’d have hesitated. But I’m glad I didn’t. With me here, there’s a chance Cobblepot will be distracted enough by settling old scores that he’ll leave you alone until Batman can come for you.”

“For us,” Damian said quickly. He didn’t know what the sickly sliming feeling in his gut at the idea of leaving Tim behind was called, but he didn’t like it. “They’re coming for both of us.”

Tim laughed, bitter and broken and completely devoid of humour. “I’m not getting out again. I resigned myself a long time ago to dying here. As long as I can last long enough to get you out safely…”

“No! No, don’t say that Drake, I, please, don’t. Father is coming for us, both of us. If he were to be too late…”

“It would break him,” Tim said quietly. “He already thinks he was too late once, even though he got me out alive.”

“So you see that you have to survive,” Damian said, pleading with Drake to understand. He didn’t know why it was so important, he’d only known Drake a few weeks, and he’d watched the deaths of people he’d known far longer without feeling anything more than a faint disgust in their weakness, but that was different. Drake was… important. To him, to father, to Todd. Drake being gone, being dead, was... unthinkable. “This city needs father, and father needs you.”

Drake laughed softly. “There was a time when that would have meant everything in the world to me,” he said quietly. “I would have done _anything_ to be important to him.”

“And now?”

“Now I know myself a little better. I am not a good person, and being around me too much hurts Bruce.”

“Only because he thinks he failed you!”

“He did,” Drake said simply, in that cold way of his that Damian was coming to learn was usually hiding boiling torrents of emotion. “I don’t blame him, and it wasn’t his fault, but he did fail me. I thought he could do anything. I thought he could _protect_ me. And then I learned better.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair and pulled on one of his awful fake smiles, specifically the one that made Dick seem physically incapable of not hugging him until it was replaced with something real, even if that was only annoyance. “Ignore me, I’m being morbid. I’m supposed to be keeping you safe, not exposing you to my cynicism. Your father is a good man, and he will get us out. Hopefully before you have a chance to end up like me.”

Drake was confusing in a number of ways, but Damian thought he could see the shape of what he was saying. “You believe you will damage me in some way?” he asked. “You believe, perhaps, that you are a worse person for my mental health than grandfather?”

Drake laughed, a little bitter but definitely amused. “Good point, I’d forgotten about him. Perhaps you really will come out of this unscarred. Or at least no more scarred than you already are. You are aware…?”

“That my upbringing has left me with modes of thinking that father considers to be problematic? It would have been impossible to miss.”

“I suppose so. Bruce is normally much more subtle. Being around you seems to break down all his boundaries.”

“It is quite vexing,” Damian agreed. “Sometimes it seems my presence brings him nothing but pain…”

“I… Well, I think we all think that sometimes. He has failed all of us, in different ways, and he can’t help remembering that when he looks at us.”

“Tt. Sometimes he is extremely illogical. It is all very confusing.”

“I’m afraid people tend to be, regardless of their species.”

“Todd is not in the least confusing,” Damian said firmly.

Drake smiled, a real one this time. “No, I suppose he isn’t. Or at least, he isn’t to you. I frequently find him baffling, but then I’m not used to people using threats of bodily harm as a seduction technique.”

“But you live with Grayson!”

“Hhnn. Dick has never threatened to eat me, or attempted to seduce me.”

“He… that is not his attempt at seduction?!” He’d never seen anyone touch someone as much as Grayson attempted to touch Drake. Drake often dodged the attempts, but they were still made. Why would anyone want to touch someone that much, if it were not as part of a sexual conquest?

“Dick believes I wasn’t hugged enough as a child, and takes every opportunity to try and make up for that,” Tim said, somewhat primly. “It is not, as I have frequently been forced to remind myself, sexual in any way. I suspect you will get the same treatment, as soon as he trusts you not to bite him for attempting it.”

“I would not…” Damian paused, considered the way Grayson wrapped his whole body around people he embraced, considered how ruffled and red-faced and generally compressed Drake looked when he emerged from Grayson’s grasp. “I would only bite him shallowly, and then only if I had no other weapons to hand.”

Drake laughed, and Damian felt himself warm, just a little. Drake was in what, to him, must have seemed like the worst position imaginable, utterly certain that he would shortly die in horrible ways, but still Damian had been able to make him laugh. This was, perhaps, part of what Dick meant when he spoke of the importance of family - warmth, and comfort in the face of danger.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he blurted out, before he could censor himself. “I mean…”

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Drake said at once, giving him a smile he knew from Robin’s face, rather than Drake’s. A sharp thing, full of knives and bitterness. “No doubt you’ll do better than I did, but perhaps I can help. To protect you, if not to preserve our secret identities.” He touches his face, as though looking for the mask which isn’t there.

“How did you protect your identity? The last time you were here?”

Drake sighed, pulling his knees close to his chest and hugging them. “At first Copplepot thought it would be more amusing to unmask me once I was dead in the arena. And then after I attacked him, he changed his mind. Ordered me unmasked. So I made a deal. That’s the one good thing about him. There’s always a deal to be made if you know where to look.”

“He agreed to give up a chance to know father’s identity? In exchange for what?!”

“Pliancy. Obedience. Me, to do whatever he wanted with.”

Damian digested that. It seemed a reasonable deal. Drake could be confusing at time, and sometimes irritating, but he was extremely skilled in many areas, for a human. Even Grandfather had admitted that the boy was not without talent. He could be a useful tool. And he wasn’t unattractive either. His features were pleasingly regular, and Jason certainly seemed to think he made an appealing prospective sexual partner for a Ghoul.

“And if he had wanted things which were… distasteful?”

Tim laughed, a low miserly thing. “I’m not his type. Too short, too male and far far too vigilante. I did think he was… But that doesn’t matter. I didn’t have a choice. I would have done as I was told. You father… Batman and Nightwing and Batgirl, they were the most important people in the world to me then. I would have done anything to protect them. And that’s no less true now I have you and Red Hood as well. But I suppose it’s too late for anything of the sort now. We have been recognised. Our faces are known.”

Damian considered that. “We are not known yet as associates of the Batman. Only as two rich boys Penguin has kidnapped. That’s surely not an uncommon occurrence.”

“Not Mr Cobblepot’s usual style, but plausible enough. But once he sees me, once Lark sees me… He is unlikely to forget someone who tore out one of his eyes, and she’s unlikely to forget someone she…”

Damian couldn’t keep from making a small questioning noise, even as he berated himself for it. He had to keep Drake’s spirits up if they were to survive this, and reminding him of what befell him the last time he was here woule certainly not help with that.

“Lark… well let’s just say that not all the scars I’m hiding were from the pit itself, and leave it at that,” Drake said, shaking his head. “She is an observant woman. She will remember the way I move. She will remember the way I fight. She will certainly remember the sounds of my pain.”

“And then father and Grayson and Cassandra and Pennyworth will be targets. And then…”

“Starfall. The destruction of all traces of their civilian lives.

“Alfred would survive it, and Cassandra. Dick would hurt but cope. All the people he loves best are vigilantes anyway. Oracle would… survive. I am almost certain her father knows, has known, for many years. She is adaptable. You father…”

“Would it truly hurt him? He doesn’t seem to enjoy his civilian identity in the least.”

“He doesn’t. But he needs it. When, once before when he was forced to wear the mask all the time, to be Batman all the time… Dick thought we had lost him entirely. I was afraid to speak to him. Alfred… I am almost certain I once caught him weeping outside the emergency bunker. It consumes him, eats him up until his whole being is subsumed by the Bat.”

Damian didn’t like the sound of that at all. He… Batman was a great fighter, and an honourable man, and… not Damian’s father. Not at all.

“I believe I understand your concern.”

“I would have described it more as blind panic,” Drake said, ruefully. “I can cope with being Mr Cobblepot’s possession again, but to risk the family…”

“Why do you call him that? You speak as though…”

“He owned me, and the lives all those I love?” Tim asked, wryly. “It is a habit I trained into myself quickly, if only to avoid... Lark. Understand, I stopped believing in a rescue after the first time… I thought I would die as his possession. I resigned myself to that.”

“Father will not fail you again,” Damian blurted out, which hadn’t been remotely what he had been going to say. But perhaps it was what Drake needed to hear. Damian believed with all of himself that the family, his family, would not leave them to rot. “He, and Jason and Cassandra and Grayson, will all be searching for you, and it will not take them long to realise where we are.”

Drake closed his eyes. “I don’t think not long will be long enough for me. But as long as I can protect you…”

“You walked out of here before!” Damian almost shouted. “You got out alive! Why should this time be different?!”

“Last time Cobble… Penguin didn’t have a chance or a reason to carry out the worst of his threats. Last time he wanted me whole and useful. This time he will want me dead. Last time he told me if I crossed him, he would have his men rape me until I passed out from the pain, and then serve me, still living, as the main course at one of his dinner parties. He wasn’t… they weren’t idle threats. It was a promise.”

“And everyone knows the Penguin never keeps his word,” Damian said quickly. “You must not despair. You can’t despair, because I can’t fight my way out of here alone.”

Drake growled, low in his throat, the sound of an injured and cornered animal prepared to bite any helping hand. “You won’t need to. Revenge will distract Penguin, keep you safe long enough for your father to save you.”

“To save both of us! You can’t…” He swallowed back tears, fought to keep his voice steady. “Please don’t leave me alone in here.”

Drake moved fast, pressing against the bars and reaching out to Damian as though he thought he might somehow have developed a long enough reach to be able to hug him. “Never,” he promised, and his voice was low and fervent enough that Damian believed him. “I swear Damian, I won’t give up until you’re safe.”

Damian reached too, managed to just brush his fingertips against Drake’s… and didn’t say a word. Drake wouldn’t hear him, not then. But Damian vowed to himself that he would not leave this place, not without him. Not without his brother.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason copes as best he can, and Bruce gets help from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only real warning for this one is Jason having a flashback. It's fairly minor, and he comes out of it quickly, but be careful reading this is that's something that's going to bother you.
> 
> Also yes, I'm totally an unashamed Talia apologist. Not even a little bit sorry.

Jason spent much of his early teens thinking of Bruce as something more than human. Not genetically, but mentally, emotionally. Bruce was Batman, and Batman was the smartest, the quickest, the most brilliant, the most relentless. He was perfect in ways Jason never could be, and there was a comfort in that. However bad things got, however much Robin messed up, Batman would always be there with a solution.

 

He probably would have had less self-esteem issues, or at least more conventional ones, if he’d ever seen Bruce that variety of frantic back then. Except he couldn’t have, because Bruce only got like that, only felt like that, for his children, and then only when they weren't there to see.

 

It was a bizarre experience to suddenly be the calm one in the family, or at least the rational one. He wasn't calm in the least, he was angrier than he could ever remember being, even back when he was still trying to kill Bruce and Dick pretty regularly, but it was a cold hard anger, the kind that sharpened the mind rather than blurring it.

 

Bruce was pacing, his hair a chaotic mess from where he’d scrubbed his hands through it, half the suit on but still wearing tuxedo pants and, oddly, undone bowtie. The boots of the Batsuit (and Jason could understand why putting them on had been Bruce’s first move, there was something infinitely comforting about non-slip soles and steel toecaps) didn’t make a sound as he strode up and down in front of the desk, but Jason thought he could hear the sound they weren't making.

 

Dick and Cass were out searching for any last clues, breaking heads and probably the odd arm to get any tips they could. Bruce had wanted to go with them, but Dick had shot him down, and Jason didn’t blame him. All the Robins had lost it at least once in their careers, gone for the killing blow, or just not bothered to reach for their grapnel when someone fell, but he'd never thought he’d see Bruce in the same mindset. It was terrifying, and more than a little world-shattering. So much of who he was was still dependant on Bruce, the man Bruce was, and the ones he pretended to be. Seeing him lose it like thar would be enough to make Jason question everything he knew if he wasn’t quite so distracted.

 

Penguin took his friends. His brothers. He might never get to see them again, and he’d only just _found_ them.

 

Tim. Sharp, crazy, brilliant, ruthless Tim, who he’d barely even had a chance to get to know. He wanted that chance, wanted it more than anything, because everything he’d seen so far suggested that the person underneath Tim’s layers and layers of masks was someone worthwhile, some he could maybe love.

 

And little Damian, just a child still, for all his killer instinct. A scared messed up child who didn’t realise just how much his parents had fucked him up. Jason was going to show him, teach him all about how to rebuild yourself when someone stole your foundations, help him become the man he was meant to be.

 

He was going to watch them both grow and change and become, and he was going to love them, and maybe have a family again, maybe not be _alone_ …

 

Jason felt a sudden and unexpected rush of longing for Talia. He wanted a mother, someone maternal and loving and grown-up, someone he could maybe hide behind a little bit.

 

His mother, the alcoholic whore who had loved him and raised him and taught him, even though she hadn’t birthed him, had been wonderful. On the days when she was sober, she’d been all the things a mother should be, and even when she was off her face she’d still loved him, and looked out for him as best she could. But she wouldn’t know how to deal with this. It wasn’t her world. Talia on the other hand would have a dozen different plans already, and an army of ninjas to carry them out, and she’d be wearing that cold humourless ‘no-one fucks with my kids’ smile of hers, the one she used to wear when people told her Jason couldn’t be fixed, that he wasn’t worth trying to save. She’d been just about the most problematic surrogate mother a newly minted teenage ghoul could have, but she’d still been a mother, and he missed her like hell in that moment.

 

Christ, Damian must have been a toddler back then. Why hadn’t she ever introduced them? Why had Jason not been Damian’s brother from day one?! But he knew the answer. Talia had treated him like a son, had loved him and tended to his wounds and fought for him, but she was still a General and an assassin, and she knew how to see the cracks in people. She wouldn’t have endangered Damian like that, not until she could be certain Jason wasn’t five minutes away from losing it completely.

 

He was always five minutes away from losing it completely. Christ, maybe he always would be. Maybe today was what would finally push him over the edge, because he could see the harsh white lights of Talia’s lab dancing just on the edge of his vision, could feel nothing but protective rage and love and hurt and _fear_. He'd thought he’d pushed the fear away, but there it was, rising up to swallow him, to drag him down into the light where everything was cold and hard and he was all _alone_. It felt like dying all over again, like the certainty that Bruce wasn’t going to reach him in time, the realisation that underneath the cowl was an imperfect man.

 

There was a scream building in his throat, and he disn’t know if it was fear or rage, whether it would be followed by violence or tears, or both, he just knew he was losing himself, he was back in the lab with the smell of disinfectant and the constant aching cold, and…

 

“Master Jason?”

 

Jason froze, staring at darkness, and slowly realised that his eyes were shut, and Alfred was calling him.

 

He nodded in acknowledgement, though he couldn’t make himself open his eyes. He didn’t know what he’d do if he saw Bruce freaking out right then, but it wouldn’t be anything good, and Alfred deserved better than that. So did Jason.

 

“There is a young lady at the door. I would say she appears to be of the ghoulish persuasion, and she says she has information for the Red Hood. I informed her I did not know of such a person, but she just glared, and pushed past me. I left her in the blue sitting room, since forcibly ejecting her myself didn’t seem a viable option.”

 

That was shocking enough to make Jason actually open his eyes. “What?!” He ran the sentence back through his mind, looking for sense and not finding any. “Who is she?!”

 

Alfred gave him a concerned look. Jason was fully aware that he probably looked like shit, in his stained and rumpled tux, eyes red and black with shock. “She did not give her name. She is approximately five foot six, with long blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, and I would guess she has tentacle kagune based on the way she moves.”

 

“Steph! How the hell…” Jason stared frantically at Alfred, willing him to believe him. “I didn’t tell her about this place, I swear it. I wouldn’t endanger the family like that! How the fuck…”

 

“I met Batgirl,” Steph said from behind him, and he turned to see her descending the staircase. She must have followed Alfred through the clock, and if Jason wasn’t so terrified he’d be fucking impressed by that. Getting anything past Alfred was fucking impossible. Even Bruce couldn’t sneak up on the man most of the time. He stared at Steph, and she gave him an unimpressed look in return. Jesus, the balls on her… He had find a better use for her than babysitting Nora’s kids. The city could use a few more Ghouls with morals like hers.

 

“I asked her you were,” Steph continued, “when I was done swooning, ‘cos seriously, Batgirl!, and she gave me one of Mr Wayne’s business cards and what I think was meant to be a significant sort of look, but it was hard to tell under the cowl.” She crossed her arms under her breasts and gave him a defiant stare, like she was expecting to be thrown out.

 

“Alfred said you had information,” Bruce said, standing abruptly much close to her that he was previously. At some point during Jason’s freak out, he’d removed his tux trousers and put on the rest of the suit, thought the bowtie is still hanging loose around his neck. It would be comical if Jason was in any mood to be amused right now.

 

Steph jumped a mile, but to her credit she didn’t run or even back away. “Holy shit, you’re Batman! Um, hi. I promise I’m not here to hurt you?”

 

“Information.”

 

Steph licked her lips, hands clenching at her sides. “Right, yes, sorry. Warren said it was your son who was taken…”

 

“So Penguin knows,” Jason said, bitterly. The chances that he didn’t were slim to none, but he’d hoped maybe they had a chance to salvage something here. “He knows.”

 

“That Bruce Wayne, millionaire playboy, is actually the Batman…” Steph said, her voice full of something that was equal parts fear and amusement. “I’ll start coping with that any moment now.

 

“Information,” Bruce repeated, though his voice was a little less hard. He always did have a soft spot for kids. Christ, if he adopted that one as well, he really would have to learn to deal with people eating human flesh in his house.

 

“Right, sorry. So my deadbeat dad used to work for Penguin, back in the day. He quit when Robin got taken. He was an asshole, but he wasn’t a child-murdering asshole. But even after, some of his mates, they used to keep in contact, and since he was killed they like to keep an eye on me. I saw one of them this evening, when I was shopping for Nora.” She held up the bag Jason hadn’t noticed her holding. It was from one of the pharmacies in town. “Those kids get through a _lot_ of toothpaste. Anyway, Warren told me about Bruce Wayne's son being taken, and where they're holding him. So I came to try and find you, and instead, I found Batgirl, and she sent me here, and Bruce Wayne is Batman, oh my god.”

 

“Where’s he holding them?” Jason asked, fighting to keep his voice gentle. The girl wasn’t freaking out like she could be, and he could understand her being a little overwhelmed, but he needed that information. His little brother… his baby bird…. “Where?”

 

“Warehouse in the Diamond District. Somewhere close to Marina Pizza. Close to where the Iceburg is moored. Penguin didn’t want him in his house.”

 

“Robin,” Batman said. “He didn’t want Robin in his house. I doubt he has any idea yet of what my son could potentially do to him, but he’s never forgotten what happened last time Robin was his prisoner.”

 

“They took Robin as well?!” Steph looked more bemused than horrified. “Are they idiots?”

 

“Well they do work for Penguin,” Jason pointed out. He felt calmer than he had since he realised he brothers were gone, Steph’s aggressive normalcy shocking out of his panic. “It’s not a job that attracts smart people. No offence.”

 

“None taken. My dad was a moron. But even he would have realised that kidnapping Robin was the worst idea anyone’s ever had. I mean, _everyone’s_ scared of Robin. Even the Bosses are scared of Robin!”

 

Jason did know that, had always known that, but he’d never put that information together with all the things he’d been learning about the boy behind the mask before. That pretty little boy with the big grey eyes and the massive emotional trauma was the same one who frightened even the Ghouls, the one with a penchant for breaking criminal’s hands in ways that would never fully heal, the one who sharpened his R-shuriken until they could slice right through ghoulish muscle from a hundred paces.

 

His baby bird was fucking hardcore.

 

It made him feel a little better. Tim was still back in the worst possible place for him, he was still fighting for his life, but it made Jason feel better to remember that Tim was considered scarier than _Batman_ by a lot of the cities’ criminals. He could protect himself, and he could sure as hell protect Damian. There was no doubt in Jason’s mind that Tim would do anything to protect Damian, including gutting Penguin like a fucking fish.

 

“Do you know what Penguin plans to do with them?” Bruce asked. His voice was calmer, and Jason wondered if he’d needed that reminder as well.

 

“Well, word on the street is he’s cancelled tonight’s fight,” Steph said, looking between them worriedly. “Which probably means…”

 

“He’s going to put them in the arena,” Bruce finished, hands clenching into fists. “He’s going to put Tim back in that place. He’s going to force my son…”

 

“He’s almost certainly going to try and get Dami to kill Tim,” Jason said, relief making him tremble a little. He hadn’t been letting himself think that they might already be dead, had been forcing the thought out of his mind, but once he knew they were still alive he relaxed a little. They’d still got a chance. “That’s okay. Damian won’t do it, and they’re both good enough to pretend for a good long while before Pengy catches on. We’ve got _time_. They’re still alive.”

 

Bruce nodded, clenching his hands into fists. “I’m calling in the others,” he said, voice cold and hard. “Suit up. We’re going hunting.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian and Tim talk, and figure out just what kind of trouble they're in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: discussions of self-mutilation by a child (specifically related to bullying and body-image issues), discussions of the psychological and physical damage done to Tim, discussions of the Tim's really weird fantasies.

“Dami? Tell me something true.”

Damian frowned, too bemused by the request to object to the contraction of his name. “I don’t know what you mean, Drake. That’s hardly a narrow definition.”

“Sorry. I need… I need something to focus on, and it occurs to me we don’t know each all that well considering we’re brothers. I thought we could do something about that.”

Damian considered that. Clearly, Drake wanted something substantial, a secret or some private memory – something to make him feel closer to Damian, and give him something to think about other than… than the things Penguin threatened him with.

“When I was eight,” he began, and then paused to try and work out if that was the correct story to tell. If he was willing to share it with a human. But Drake wasn’t just a human, he was Damian’s brother, and maybe his friend. He could do it.

“When I was eight, I tried to remove my left eyeball. I got quite far with it before one of Mother’s attendants found me and stopped me.”

There was a faint wet sound that Damian had learnt to interpret as Drake touching his tongue to his bottom lip, the way he did when he was considering a puzzle. “The one-eyed ghoul…?”

Damian hummed his agreement. “The stories are all true. The half-human ghoul with one red eye, who’s more powerful than any pure-blooded Ghoul. Mother was delighted. Even Grandfather found me to be acceptable. I am faster than any other ghoul he had met, and my speed is growing with age. I heal quickly and efficiently. I am physically superior to other ghouls, except for that one small imperfection.”

“You hated it.”

“I learned to. I was never bullied, the other students would not have dared, and I would have killed any of Mother’s attendants who attempted it. But I heard the talk that went on, the things said behind my back. I have very very good hearing. They mocked me, talked of me as a freak, as lesser because part of me was cattle. They called me the one-eyed bastard, as though my human eye did not exist. They thought I was half a person because of my blood.”

“Did you think it would grow back red?”

“I didn’t think at all,” Damian admitted, leaning back against the bars. “I was weak. I allowed emotion to overcome me.”

“Your eyes are both red now.”

“Yes. When the attendant who had found me told Mother what I had done, Mother killed her. The woman was slight, and about of an age with you. Her skull was a similar size to my own. Mother cut out her eye and told me to follow her. She led me to her laboratory and put the eye in a flask of some kind of chemical and picked up a scalpel. She did not speak, she just stood there looking at me until I nodded.

“The surgery was… unpleasant. I did not black out, but I only remember snatches of it.” Except when I’m dreaming, he didn’t add. “My body accepted the eye as my own quickly. It grows with me now, and it is close enough in colour to my own that the difference could only be detected under a microscope.”

“And did it work? Did the other students respect you more?”

“You already know the answer to that. It was a hard lesson to learn, that they would hate me no matter what I did, because I had social standing they wished for themselves.”

“Haters gonna hate,” Drake said, with what sounded like a smile in his voice.

“Now it is your turn,” Damian said, reminding himself forcefully that Drake was not mocking, that Drake would not, not for something important. He didn’t know enough about his brother, but he knew that. “Tell me something true.”

Drake sighed, looking down at his clasped hands. “When I first came back, I tried to… to go back to normal. To pretend nothing had changed, that I was still whole… I’d had a girlfriend before, Arianna. I told her something like the truth. I told her I’d been kidnapped and the stories in the press were all made up because my parents didn’t want the publicity. She knew me well enough to know there was something I was hiding, but she accepted it. She forgave me for the time away.

“I thought spending time with her would help, and it sort of did. She was kind and gentle and normal and everything I hadn’t had during those weeks at the Iceberg lounge. It was good, until the day her parents weren’t home, and she invited me back to her place.

“She didn’t look disgusted when she saw my scars, nothing like that. She was far too good a person for that. But she looked horrified. Horrified in a way I knew Dick or Bruce or Cassandra never would be. She touched me like she thought I might break.”

“Humans,” Damian said, unable to keep the disgust from his voice.

“Civilians,” Drake corrected. “But the real secret here, the thing I never told anyone even when Dick was buying me ice cream and kung fu movies while I tried not to cry about my first ever break-up, was that I was glad. I’d been terrified of the idea of us being physically intimate, even as I enjoyed her company, because I knew there were bits of me that hadn’t come back from the Iceberg, and other bits of me that I couldn’t hide any more.

“Until, well I don’t want you to get the wrong idea here, but until you arrived, I hadn’t even fantasised extensively about another person since I was taken. I didn’t think I would ever have a romantic or sexual relationship again.”

Damian considered the timeline. “And then you began to spend more time around Jason?”

“I didn’t realise I was falling for him, until I realised that the first substantial sexual fantasy I had had since the Iceberg, the first one that had an actual person in it, was when I got hard thinking about what it would actually be like if Jason were to carry out his threats of eating me.”

Damian tried to imagine what it would be like to kill a willing victim. He had killed people who were resigned to their fate, too scared or depressed or worn-down to fight back, but to have someone give themselves willingly… Would it add or detract from the experience? Would it… But he wasn't going to think too hard about that, because the only human he could imagine ever being willing was Drake, and he didn't wish to think about killing his brother.

“I don’t think you should tell Jason that,” he said, eventually. “I think he would like the idea far too much.”

Drake laughed softly. “Probably. I had been going to make a move though, so it almost certainly would have come up.”

“Will,” Damian said sharply. “We are going to survive this, Drake, and you are going to fuck Jason and probably allow him to do horribly ill-advised things to you in the name of achieving orgasm. I promise!”

Drake laughed softly. “I’m not sure what your father would say to you making promises like that.”

“He’d be appalled, and probably lecture me at great length,” Damian said, smiling slightly. He respected his father a great deal, but he had also come to enjoy discomfiting him. He had been… incorrect in his treatment of Jason, and Damian enjoyed reminding him often that he could not escape the fact of having Ghoulish children anymore. “Anyway, he’s your father too.”

“Yes,” Drake agreed easily, “but neither of us ever actually admit to that.”

“He has adopted you,” Damian pointed out. “What is there to deny?!”

“The fact that he was my father, my true father, long before my birth parents were killed,” Drake said, quietly enough that even another Ghoul might not have heard him. “That our family is the only real family I’ve ever had, even though my biological father was killed only last year.”

Damian knew nothing about Drake’s birth parents, but he knew his brother well enough to make educated guesses. “They did not treat you well, but you feel that you should have loved them all the same,” Damian suggested.

“They were never cruel, or abusive,” Drake said and sighed. “They were never anything. They would go away for months at a time, leaving me with only the housekeeper. They spoke often of taking me with them on their trips, but they never truly meant it. My mother thought of me only as the heir to her company, and my father often did not think of me at all. I was a non-entity in their lives.”

“I cannot imagine having parents who did not care for me,” Damian admitted. “Mother loves me very much, and I know Father is growing to care for me, even as he struggles with my Ghoulish nature.”

“Your father loved you from the first moment he saw you,” Drake corrected gently. “He’s like that. He apologised to me once that it took him a month to begin to think of me as his child – to him that was an unimaginably long stretch of time. Most of us he loved from the first moment.”

“That seems… improbable.”

“He’s an improbable man. And he’s needed family as badly, perhaps even more so, than any of us.”

Damian was about to say more, but the door to the warehouse they were in swung open, and he and Drake both scrambled to their feet.

Three men entered, ghouls from the smell, all large, and carrying guns. Their leader, a tall man who moved like he was used to tentacles, gestured Drake and Damian away from the bars before he unlocked them, the others keeping guns trained on the two of them.

Three ghouls wasn't necessarily a challenge, Damian had prevailed against greater odds before and he had no doubt Drake could say the same, but these were big tough men, experienced fighters, and all of them carried guns. He couldn't risk Drake getting shot, so he didn’t resist as he was lead out of the cage, or when his hands were cuffed in front of him, and nor did Drake.

They ware hustled out of the warehouse and along an underground tunnel, the smell of salt and refuse telling him they were heading towards the bay. Cobblepot’s men had split up, one walking ahead and two behind with their guns drawn, leaving Damian and Drake in the middle. Drake was stumbling in the dark, not using any of the grace Damian knew he possessed, so he played along, hoping the awful cologne Pennyworth had picked out was still strong enough to mask his natural scent. If they were underestimated, so much the better.

After about ten minutes of silent walking, the tunnel came to an abrupt end. Damian allowed his eyes to bleed red for just a second when the guards were looking elsewhere, enabling him to make out the metal rungs embedded in the concrete wall. It was a stupid way to take prisoners, especially ones who were known to be dangerous. Perhaps his desperate fantasy that Penguin didn’t know who they were had some merit after all. The problem was the guns. If they were loaded with Kugune rounds, the men wouldn't risk firing them in such an enclosed space, but if they ware normal bullets, they had no reason not to open fire on Drake.

He turned to Drake, but Drake kept his eyes fixed on his own cuffed hands. After a moment Damian understood and looked down at where Drake's slender fingers were carefully spelling out a message. Damian had been taught a little ASL as a child, because it was known that his father sometimes used it to communicate with his partners. He couldn't communicate easily the way the others could, but he knew enough to translate Drake's fingerspelling. "Danger. No room."

He nodded to show he understood and deliberately forced himself to relax out of the ready position he'd unconsciously put himself into.

After some macho posturing among the guards, one of them was nominated to climb the ladder first, which he did with his gun held in an awkward way that told Damian the rounds were either standard ones or the guard was monumentally stupid.

When he’d unbolted the door at the top of the ladder, the guard arranged himself over the hole, gun aimed straight at Drake's head. "You next, rich boy," he said. "Try anything, and I'll put a bullet in you, understand?"

"There's no need for this," Drake said, and for a moment Damian was shocked by how scared he sounded before he remembered that they were pretending to be normal scared human children. "Our dad is rich. He'd pay you if you just let us go, anything you asked."

"That's what Mr Cobblepot's counting on, kid," the thug said with a grin, and Damian had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from visibly reacting. He'd been right, Penguin didn't know who they were, or if he did, he was keeping the information to himself. There was still a chance to save Damian's family’s civilian lives. He glanced at Drake, meeting his eyes for a second, and saw the same desperate relief in his brother’s eyes as he knew must be in his own.

Drake would fight. He had something to protect, now. Damian felt almost sick with the relief of it.

“Climb,” one of the thugs grunted, pressing his gun to Drake’s spine. Drake’s shoulder’s twitched, and Damian could see perfectly the move he was resisting making, the way he was stopping himself from disarming the man.

“No need to get rough,” he said instead, grabbing the ladder and beginning to climb.

When he was a few rungs from the top, the waiting thug grabbed him by the collar, hauling him up and out as though he weighed nothing. A stupid show of strength – if Drake hadn’t been playing nice he could easily have overbalanced the man and sent him plummeting back down the shaft.

The second thug went next, leaving Damian alone with a man armed only with lead bullets. It would be so very easy to kill him – the men are big and strong, but they were also slow and lacked formal training. It would take barely any effort to slice the man’s throat open with his Kagune… But doing that would be as good as signing Drake’s death warrant, and Father and Cassandra’s as well. And Dick and Pennyworth, but Damian could almost certainly live with that guilt. He couldn’t live with having killed his brother and sister.

He thought longingly of his mother, who would be able to clear all this up so easily. If she were here, she’d have found some way to save them without dooming Father. She’d be able to protect Drake the way Damian was failing to do, and she’d do it too, because he was Damian’s brother and he looked out for Damian, and she always wanted what was best for her children.

Perhaps if Damian failed to protect Drake, Mother would rebuild him the way she had done Jason. Drake would make a good Ghoul, and then he could hunt with Jason and Damian for real, rather than just watching with that strange quiet expression he got when he watched them kill.

There was no time for silly fantasies, not when they were in real danger, but Damian filed the thought away for later. It was a pretty dream. Perhaps he would tell Jason about it. If Drake were a Ghoul, Jason could seduce him without having worry about accidentally eating him. But perhaps that was part of the appeal…?

“Move it, kid,” the thug behind him grunted, gesturing with his gun.

Damian didn’t snarl, or show his eyes, or slam the sharp edges of his Kagune into the man’s chest. He clenched his teeth, took a second to be sure he had the man’s face memorised so he could kill him later, and climbed.

The ladder let out onto a concrete Jetty, the side of some large boat mostly obscuring his view of the bay. Above them, another Jetty, this one made of wood, hid them from anyone on the dockside.

The ship must be the Iceburg, Penguin’s floating casino. Viewed from down here it didn’t have any of the beauty that had struck him the first time he visited. The lower portion of the boat was painted plain black, without any of the windows and lights that created the dazzling brilliance of the top part, and the bulk of it blocked his sight of the lights on the water. From down there, the Iceburg looked like what it was – nasty, seedy and dark.

He couldn’t make out Drake’s face in the darkness, but he could see the way he was trembling, very slightly, and it made him want to kill everyone who had ever hurt his brother.

A door opened in the side of the boat, spilling unnaturally white halogen light out into the darkness and silhouetting a familiar shape.

“This way,” Lark said, stepping back to allow them to pass by her into the corridor.

Drake hunched in on himself, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Combined with the shaking it made him look scared, even defeated, and ensured that Lark couldn’t get a good look at either his face or his silhouette.

Damian pressed as close to his brother as he could as they passed her, hoping the hideous cologne Father had insisted Damian wear would hide Drake’s own scent. No one seemed to know whether Lark was a ghoul or not, and her own scent was masked by the same artificial lilac scent which had given Damian a headache the last time he was there, but better safe than sorry. Not that there was any safety to be had in that place.

The corridor was wide, obviously intended for transporting goods as well as the scrappers whose blood had soaked into the floor, allowing Damian and Drake to walk side by side. Damian brushed his hand against Tim’s, hoping the gesture would be understood as the comfort he intended it to be.

At the end of the corridor, they turned left then right through an enormous reinforced steel door which was standing open ready for them. Damian glanced at it as they passed, and saw scratches in the paint, the marks of human fingernails left by desperate people fighting to escape.

They passed through a large white painted room, a balcony on one side of it encased in bars, presumably a place for a guard to watch the scrappers waiting to fight without the risk of being down amongst desperate people trained to kill for their own survival.

The door on the far side of the room lifted up on a pulley, rather than opening outward, allowing it to be dropped quickly in the event of a riot. On the other side, Damian could see an arena, the steel floor covered with a layer of sawdust.

“I’ll take them from here, boys,” Lark said, nodding to the tallest of the thugs.

They glanced at one other, as though they wanted to say something, but after a second they filed out, shutting the door behind them.

Damian heard the squeal of metal on metal as the wheel turned and the lock slid shut.

“How many people are in there?” Drake asked, very softly.

Damian glanced at him, and then took a deep breath. Blood, old urine, bile, champagne… and only one person. “Just Penguin.”

Drake nodded, and straightened up, giving Lark a small smile. “Hello, Lark. It’s been a long time.”

Lark hissed out a breath from between her teeth. “Robin. You really do have the worst luck in the world, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve lived this long, which isn’t all that bad by the standards of masked vigilantes.”

“And now you’re going to die.”

“Possibly. It certainly seems likely, but then I thought I was going to die last time as well.”

“No one’s coming to save you this time, little bird. This time I’m going to finish the job I started on you.”

“Mr Cobblepot may have something to say about that. He’s got his own threats to fulfil after all, and it’s quite hard to eat someone alive if they’ve already been flayed – I mean, it’s not impossible, but it really doesn’t seem very likely, even for someone with your knife skills.”

Flayed… Is that what Drake was hiding under his layers of clothes? Is that why he didn't shower and change with the rest of the family?! “I’m going to kill you,” Damian told Lark, his voice cold and hard in a way that made him sound like his mother. “Whatever happens here today, however you try and hide, I will hunt you down, and I will kill you.”

Lark just raised a single manicured eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his threat. She would learn.

“We shouldn’t keep Mr Cobblepot waiting,” Drake said quietly, and Lark smiled, very slightly.

“That’s the good boy I remember,” she said nastily and gestured for the two of them to precede her into the arena.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: those of you who know Tokyo Ghoul may be surprised to notice in this chapter that Ghouls are known in this universe. Honestly, I was surprised as well, at least until Lex Luthor turned up in my head to tell me about the charity work he does with former scrappers, and just where Mercy Graves learned to be the terrifying badass she is. So yeah, you can blame that particular break from canon on Lex and his love of grandstanding, even though he's not going to be appearing in this story.
> 
> Also, I'm really sorry this took so long! I'll try and be quicker with the next one. Thank you all for sticking with me, and this story.
> 
> Warnings for Tim being in just about the worst situation he could be in for his mental health and threats of physical violence. Which is actually a pretty mild set of warnings by the standards of this story.

 

The arena looks the same as it does in Tim’s nightmares, except that the sawdust is fresh, the smell of it almost enough to cover up the slaughterhouse stink that's soaked into the fabric of the place.

 

The benches around the top, tucked away behind bullet resistant glass Tim knows for a fact is too tough for even the strongest human to shatter, are empty, and Tim breathes a sigh of relief for that. The secret is safe a few minutes longer. Mr Cobblepot won't tell anyone, not until he's decided what the information is worth.

 

He's not thinking about how they're going to stop the information spreading. Just because he knows what needs to be done doesn't mean he's ready to deal the the implications right now. He needs to stay as calm as he can if he's going to have any chance of saving Damian from Mr Cobblepot’s clutches.

 

Their captor himself is in his usual spot, on the little raised dias between the rows of benches. The large ornate chair is meant to make him look like a king surveying his kingdom, but all it really does is emphasise just how physically unintimidating he is. His feet don't quite reach the floor, and that combined with his girth makes him look more like a rejected Wizard of Oz character than the powerful criminal he actually is.

 

“Mr Cobblepot,” Lark says, with a slight bow in her employer's direction, “The Wayne boy, as requested. And a surprise. An old friend has decided to come and visit.”

 

Tim keeps his head down, but he makes no effort to disguise his stance, and he can tell from Mr Cobblepot’s sharp intake of breath that he's been recognised.

 

“So I see,” Mr Cobblepot says, and Tim doesn’t need to see see him to know he's  rubbing his hands together in anticipation. There's so much adrenaline in Tim’s system that he's starting to feel sick with it, and it's only thanks to Bruce’s training that he's not shaking. This is a nightmare, and he just wants to wake up. He always knew he’d end up back here, and he fucking dreaded that, but he’d had time to deal with that certainty. But Damian was never supposed to be here, not his little brother…

 

“Well well well, what an unexpected pleasure. And young Mr Wayne…” This is it, this is the moment, and Tim forces himself to look up. Mr Cobblepot turns his beady eyes on Damian, peering at him. After a second he rears back, eyes opening so wide his monocle falls out, dangling from its chain. “You're Batman’s boy! The little al Ghul! And you…” he turns back to Tim, and it's only willpower that allows him to suppress the instinct to bow. “Timothy Drake-Wayne, I presume? Yes, I see it now. Well well well, no wonder you tried so hard to hide when I had you. Does your Daddy know about all the things you did? Does  _ Batman _ ?”

 

Blood on his hands, so much of it, so slick and hot, filling up his senses until he can't smell anything else.  Screams of real terror, and those had been because of him, because in that moment he'd been more frightening than even the hordes of ghouls baying for blood...

 

“Batman knows Tim did what was necessary to survive,” Damian says, his sharp tone cutting through the horror show behind Tim’s eyes.

 

He looks at his brother and Damian gives him a glare that suggests he knows exactly what's going on in Tim’s head and he doesn't like it. 

 

Mr Cobblepot clicks his tongue. “So protective! Oh, we're going to have fun, boys, just you wait! Lark my dear, seal off the arena. No one comes in or out. I can't risk any of my boys discovering this little titbit before I have a chance to decide what do with it.” Penguin is excited, almost bouncing in his seat as he talks, oversized hands clasped together over his prodigious belly.

 

Lark nods once, and goes to bolt the door that separates the green room from the arena. Having her out of his line of site makes the worst of the scars on Tim’s back itch with the knowledge of what she can do if you let her get the drop on you.

 

“Now then,” Mr Cobblepot says, rubbing his hands together, “what am I to do with you, hey boys? Can't just kill you, not with a secret like this on the line, but on the other hand, I can't just store Mr Drake away somewhere until the bidding's over. I've got promises to keep. Can't just let someone who crossed me get away scott free now can I?  Bad for business that sort of thing. Can't have people saying Mr Cobblepot doesn't keep his word!”

 

He tips his head to one side, considering, and Tim says a silent prayer to any god or devil who might be listening to protect Damian from whatever nightmare comes next.

 

Damian’s been with them only a few short weeks, but even in that time he's started to heal. The idea of the angry scared kid who had first arrived on the Manor doorstep standing shoulder to shoulder with him against other ghouls seems ludicrous, but Damian’s changed so much, so quickly. His affection for Cass, his vow of brotherhood to Tim, the secrets he's revealed… They can't let all that have been in vain, they can't!

 

“Oh I know just the thing!” Mr Cobblepot exclaims, drawing Tim’s attention back to himself. “My dear mother, God rest her soul, was a devout Catholic, read her bible every night, but her favourite verse was from Exodus. An eye for an eye, my old mother used to say, and she was a wise woman.” He leans forward in his chair, a horrible brutal anticipation twisting his features. “You tried to take my  _ eyes  _ little bird. Now I'm going to pay you back!”

 

* * *

 

Alfred offers to give Steph a ride home, which she accepts gratefully. Gotham hasn't yet started installing RC detectors on the busses and trains, but a lot of other cities have, including New York, and the constant news stories about them have made public transport increasingly dangerous for ghouls.

 

If Jason’s suspicions are correct,  she'll have a bike of her own soon enough. Bruce has always been better at expressing his affection through high powered vehicles than just coming out and admitting he wants to adopt someone.

 

Dick and Batgirl arrive home just as Steph and Alfred are leaving, and Cass grins when she sees the other girl, wide enough to be visible through her creepy as fuck full face cowl.

 

Steph definitely getting a bike. 

 

They don't bother coming up with any kind of plan. They all know the Iceberg well enough to work on the fly, and right now speed is what matters, so they just gear up in solemn silence and head out.

 

Jason hadn't had the arsenal he wants with him, but he'd had one half of his favourite pairs of pistols on him,  and the other is in its slot on his bike, along with a handful of explosive pellets, a couple of smoke bombs, and a packet of the spiced jerky an elderly ghoul who lives on the edge of his territory and says he reminds her of her long dead son makes.

 

He hasn't got a whole lot of ammo, but that's probably for the best. Ricochets are always the enemy in enclosed spaces, especially when you're teaming up with squishy squishy humans. His kagune got him through five years with the League of Assassins, they'll do for this.

 

They peel out of the cave in procession, first Bruce, then Dick with Cass riding bitch (Batgirl has been offered a bike of her own, and refused. She says, or mimed rather, than she prefers to explore the city on foot), then Jason.

 

No matter long it's been, or how focused he is on other things,  Jason always gets a childish thrill from crossing the Kane bridge on his bike. He can't help remembering the first time Bruce had taken him on patrol. He hadn't believed it, not really, not until they crossed the Kane into Gotham proper. That, more than the training,  more than the food, or school, or a warm bed, or even the uniform, was the moment when he really believed his old life was behind him. The moment when it finally sank in the he'd been adopted by  _ Batman _ . By Bruce, and even back then that had been just as important.

 

They fly through Robbinsville  (and it's always seemed a bit significant that that's the first place Batman goes through every night) and cross the Finger into Penguin's territory.

 

The roads leading down to the docks are wide and just well lit enough to attract the working girls who have learned to fear darkness,  but know it's good for business. 

 

They get yells and catcalls and a few genuine greetings as they tear past one of the strolls, especially Batgirl, whose usual patrol route this is, and even scared and angry and all kinds of fucked up, Jason wouldn't be himself if he didn't slow down enough to know they'll see his wave and hear his shouted greeting. Dick pulls his bike into a wheelie, and Cassandra waves, and the parts of Jason which are always cold feel a little bit warmer knowing it was him who got the family to think of the women as possible allies and fucking people instead of just potential ghoul chow.

 

He tries to carry that warmth with him, to guard against the cold of Talia’s lab, but then they turn onto the seafront, the Iceberg glittering like a diamond before them, and Jason’s blood turns to ice.

 

His brothers are in there, somewhere, and he has no way of knowing if they're alive or dead. 

It's pulled a little way back from the jetty, easily in sight, but too far to safely jump the bikes.

 

Bruce can glide over, but the rest of them are going to have to make it across on the lines.

 

“Zip line,” Dick suggests, eying the gap critically.

 

“It'll have to be, but it'll be noisy, and it's going to be hard to make purchase. The side of the Iceberg is too thick. We'll need to hit something above deck, and that won't go unnoticed.”

 

“I'll go first,” Bruce says. “I can cover you.”

 

The idea of relying on Bruce to watch his back makes Jason’s spine itch, but he can't think of a better solution, so he doesn't say anything.

 

There aren't many buildings on this stretch of the waterfront more than one storey high, but there's one apartment block that's just about within range, so they stash their bikes behind an upmarket fish restaurant and make for the roof.

 

They grapple up via the building next door. Grappling up to a roof is hard work, and never dignified since you always have to haul yourself up bodily for the last bit, but Penguin’s almost certainly got eyes inside the building, so taking the staircase is a no go if they want to keep the element of surprise.

 

They watch on as Bruce makes the adjustments necessary to turn his cape into a glider, and then makes the jump, his silhouette stark against the bright lights of the Iceberg. 

 

They all hear his quiet grunt a her lands through the comms, then he says softly, “three guards on this side. Two known humans, one unknown. Wait for my signal.”

 

Jason had always hated those words when he was Robin, and he doesn't like them now, but he's learned patience since he was fifteen, so he just clenches his teeth and waits silently with the others, listening to Bruce’s breathing and occasional grunts of exertion.

 

“You should take the shot,” Dick says to Jason, when they finally hear Bruce's “clear”. “You're a better shot than either of us.”

 

It's true, and it's practical, but it's also his brother acknowledging Jason’s new life in a way none of them have. There's no judgement or guilt in Dick’s expression, and there's never been any from Tim either, but then Tim may not even be capable of the kind of moral judgements the rest of the family runs on. It's the kind of acceptance he didn't think he'd ever get.

 

Dick’s zip line is almost certainly better quality, but right now the weighting matters more than the power, and he knows all the idiosyncrasies of his own.

 

The main restaurant is below deck, but there's a couple of buildings above deck, the entrance and a covered seating area for the the nice weather Gotham never ever gets.

 

The walls are too noisy, and the roof of the seating area is slightly sloped, enough that Jason can probably get purchase in the asphalt.

 

He backs up against the roof access that's going to act as their second anchor point, and allows his eyes to bleed red.

 

He's been told more than once that it's an urban myth that the red eyes enhance eyesight, so maybe it's psychosomatic, but they help him focus.

 

He takes aim, adjusting slightly for the wind, and fires.

 

He hits his target dead on, and then it's the work of a moment to anchor the other end into the brickwork behind him.

 

“Now,” Dick says. “Before the Iceberg moves.”

 

Cass goes first, then Dick, Jason taking up the rear.

 

When the hit the deck on the other side, Jason hits the button to unlock the zip line from the building, and reels it in, attaching it to his belt.

 

“Ready?” Bruce asks, and Jason swallows down his rage and fear, packs it all away to deal with later.

  
“Ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The details of ghoulish society/justice mentioned here aren't from Tokyo Ghoul, they're my own creation. I thought the ghouls should have something like an internal legal system, and since Raa's is so influential, it seems logical that he'd be the one to devise it.
> 
> Warnings: I can't say much without spoiling things, so the detailed warnings are at the end for people who needs them, but mostly there's a lot of violence, maiming and injuries, and we finally find out why Tim won't take his shirt off in company anymore. Plus Jason being his usual creepy self and more mentions of his and Talia's creepy as fuck relationship. See the end if you need more details.

There are four entrances to the Iceberg lounge. Two are below the deck, where they bring in food and the unfortunate souls destined to die in the arena. Above deck, there are the great glass doors leading down into the Iceberg lounge, and the second smaller doors where ghouls can enter to watch the fights.

They take the fourth door, finding themselves in a narrow corridor. The metal of the walls and floor is freshly painted in pristine white, the harsh chemical of the paint filling Jason’s nostrils. There are times when he really misses his dull human senses.

He huffs out a breath and does his best to fill his mind with the memory of Tim’s scent, the blood and sweat and cherry zesti and cologne smell that makes up the boy he thinks he might be falling in love with.

“Did you know your eyes are glowing?” Dick asks him softly, as they move quick and quiet down through the ship.

“A monster has our brothers,” Jason growls. “And you’re worried about whether I appear human enough for company?!”

“No, Jay. No. I don’t care. I just wanted to know what it meant, that’s all.”

“It means it’s time to hunt. It means that tonight I intend to find out just why the Joker loves Cannibalism so much, and if Penguin’s hurt one hair on either of their heads, I will use every trick Talia taught me to torture him until he begs for it first.”

“I’m probably supposed to object to that,” Dick says thoughtfully. “But I saw Tim when he came back from this place before, so I’ll just tactfully suggest that a monster like that is probably toxic.”

Jason is shocked into soft laughter, and he grins at his brother. It feels strange to admit that after so many years, but whatever has passed between them, Dick is his brother. More now than he had ever been before his death. “Perhaps I will let Damian decide his fate?”

“No, you’re right, cannibalism is definitely the way go.”

“Shhh,” Bruce hisses sharply and gestures the sign for movement ahead.

They all crouch, reaching for weapons, and Jason breathes a sigh of pure relief as he finally, finally, allows his kagune to slide out, covering his left arm.

Bruce makes the gestures for ‘incapacitate’ and ‘silent’ and they move as one. They find three of Penguin’s men, all of them ghouls. Cassandra and Bruce take one each, and Dick and Jason take the third, Dick covering the man’s mouth as Jason cuts his Achilles' tendons, then gagging and tying him up quickly and efficiently.

Jason licks the blood from his kagune, pulling a face at the too sweet inhuman flavor. It makes something dark and monstrous stir in the back of his mind, something that smiles like Talia and hungers like Croc, and promises him “soon”. He should push it away but they’re deep enough into the ship that the smell of death is overwhelming everything else, including his good sense.

He unleashes his second blade, and they make their way down the final staircase into the banqueting hall.

The great table, big enough to seat two dozen men, dominates the room. The wood is dark - it’s obviously an antique, but the blood stains are still clearly visible. The death smell is stronger here, mixed with blood, old fear and worst of all, arousal, and he can’t hold in a growl.

“Easy,” Bruce says softly, and Jason takes a breath, trying to ignore what he can taste on the air, and pushes the rage a little further down, though perhaps not as far as Bruce would like.

There are two doors leading out of the room apart from the one they entered by - a larger one which must lead to the spectator stands, and a lift which scent tells him leads down to the arena.

“This way,” he grunts, heading to the lift doors.

There’s no button at this level, but by forcing his kagune between the doors it’s easy enough to lever it open.

The lift is at the bottom, so the climb down the cable hand over hand. Jason is forced to hide his kagune in order to grip the cable properly, and that fucking hurts. He's hunting nightmares, every instinct is screening st him that he should have his blade out.

The maintenance hatch at the top of the lift opens easily, and they drop down one after another.

They can hear yelling from the other side of the door. It's indistinct but he can make out Damian’s voice, high and sharp with panic.

They all reach for their weapons, and Bruce pushes the button to open the lift door.

Damian is yelling insults and threats in a mix of English and Arabic as he desperately struggles against Lark’s grip. He's taken a terrible blow to the shoulder, one of his arms hanging half off, the white of the bone exposed, and his right wing hanging limp and useless.

Opposite the door, with his back to them, is Tim. His suit is in bloody tatters, the body armor he was wearing underneath crumpled at his feet, and Jason almost forgets the horror of Tim’s present as he's confronted with the truth of his past.

When Dick spoke of scars, Jason had expected whip marks, maybe tooth marks. Not this.

Tim's back is divided into a neat checkerboard of pale skin and shiny pink scar tissue. Beside him he hears Dick whisper ‘my god’ and he knows that like him, Dick knows what the scars look like when the body regrows skin from nothing.

Someone had methodically and systematically flayed Tim alive, portioning out the torment in ways that probably kept him conscious through the whole thing, and then sent him into the arena to fight for his life with the raw muscle of his back exposed.

He hears a snarl and it takes him a few minutes to realize it's coming from him.

Damian finally registers their presence, yells something Jason doesn't have enough Arabic to understand, and then, “drugs, drugs in the air!”

That would explain why Tim is just standing there, swaying slightly as Penguin approaches.

The humans pull out gas masks and rebreathers from various pockets, but Jason doesn't bother. Later he’ll argue that he knew Penguin wouldn't risk poisoning himself, and any system down here in the pit is going to be designed to subdue scrappers. The truth is he's too angry to care.

He’s vaguely aware of Dick running to Damian’s side, of Lark producing a machete, but his attention is all focused on Tim.

Penguin's expression twists with rage when he sees them, and he strikes, tearing a desperate scream out of Tim.

Whatever he did, the pain must be enough to allow Tim to focus, because he drops into a ready position, one hand pressed to his face, and hisses out “air filters, 3 and 9. “

Jason spins, finding the small vents, but it's Bruce who takes them out, shooting a gun that fires some kind of foam that expands to cover the vent, setting solid.

Tim holds outa hand, says, “knife” in a horribly calm voice, and Jason is shocked enough that presses his favorite kagune edged blade into Tim's hand without thinking.

Behind them a woman screams, Lark going down under the combined forces of Dick and Damian, but Jason isn't paying attention. All his energy is focused on Tim, scarred and bleeding and burning with ice-cold fury.

Jason would be yelling, even Bruce would have something to say, but Tim is utterly silent as he advances on his attacker.

He remains silent as he stabs the knife deep into Penguin's shoulder, making Penguin scream with pain.

He uses the leverage of the knife to back Penguin against the side of the arena, nowhere to go except through Tim, and Penguin's not stupid enough to think that's an option.

Instead, he does what he always does. He looks for a deal. “What will it take for you to spare me? I can pay. I wronged you, I see that now, but I can make it up to you. What do you want? Anything, I can get you anything!”

“I want the same thing I've wanted for 5 years, Mr Cobblepot,” Tim says pleasantly, the strain of his injuries barely showing in his voice. “I want your _eyes_.”

Penguin babbles desperate pleas for mercy, but Tim ignores him, holding out his free hand. “Biopod.”

“Tim…” Bruce says, from somewhere on Jason’s left, but Tim cuts him off with a snarl.

“Biopod, Bruce, or I kill him right here.”

There was a long tense moment of silence, and then Bruce presses one of the miniaturized cryo-pods used to preserving biological evidence into Tim’s hand.

Penguin is still trying to talk his way out, alternately begging, pleading and threatening, but Tim ignores him, clipping the biopod into his belt to free up his hands and advancing on him.

He pins Penguin in place with his free hand around his throat. “If you move, this will hurt even more,” he says and puts the knife the Penguin's face.

Penguin screams at first, but the noises quickly dissolve into desperate sobbing, and the dark parts of Jason thrill for the visicious steadiness of Tim's revenge, the way he doesn't pause even when Penguin begins making a high animal noise of sheer terror. This is the boy Jason is falling in love with, the one he wants in his life no matter what. This perfect little predator who thinks like a ghoul but tastes like a human.

Beside Jason, Bruce has turned half away, fists clenched. Jason wonders if this is the first time he's really seen what Tim has become. If Talia had left in more of the boy he used intact, he'd probably feel sorry for the man. He wasn't an especially good father, but he loved them all. The last couple of months, being forced to deal with the reality of first Jason and Damian, and now Tim, must have been a nightmare for him.

“Didn't your mother teach you not to play with your food, Drake?” Damian asks, and Jason glances over to see him standing beside Bruce, holding his injured arm in place while the wound glows faintly as his healing abilities work on reaching the muscles.

“My mother taught me revenge was best made as public and vindictive as possible to discourage your other enemies,” Tim says almost absently.

That explains a lot about him.

Tim holds out the now blood streaked knife to Jason, who wipes it on his jeans before putting it back in its sheath at his hip. Everything he's wearing except his jacket and his boots will be burned as soon as he's back at his hideout anyway. He doesn't want any of the stink of his place following him home.

Hands now free, Tim flips open the biopod, dropping something small and white into it with bloody fingers. Then he turns around.

Jason gasps, and beside him, Bruce flinches like he's been struck. Dick breathes out “little brother,” in tones of pure horror.

Tim's left eyelid is sagging shut over empty space, blood streaming down his cheek like tears.

“Oh baby…”

“An eye for an eye,” Tim says.

“Makes the whole world blind,” Bruce responds, but it sounds automatic.

“Not,” Tim says nastily, “when one of the eyes in question grows back.”

Jason snorts. “I can make sure that doesn't happen if you like,” he offers. “Garbage like him’s bound to have some acid around here somewhere.

“Not yet, Hood,” Damian says. His shoulder is nearly healed and he's eying Penguin with undisguised hatred. “I've got a few things to say to him and I want him capable of paying attention.”

“Fine by me, so long as I get to stick around and watch,”

“We need to get Tim to a doctor,” Dick says, glancing between them. “He's bleeding from the eye!”

“Empty socket actually, “ Tim says, disconcertingly calmly. “And it’s really not bleeding all that much.”

Jason is forcing himself to take shallow breaths through his nose, because even the stench of the arena is being drowned out by the smell/taste of Tim’s blood on the air and Jesus Christ Jason wants to eat him, except that if he did he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing that nothing else would ever taste as good.

“What are we going to do about Penguin,” he asks, to distract himself. “He knows the secret now.”

“He dared to attack an Al Ghul, and the brother of an Al Ghul,” Damian says, in tones of absolute conviction. “He must die.”

“No!” Bruce all but yells, and Jason has known that this would always be the sticking point, no matter how accepting he might think he’s being. This would be the one part of Ghoulish nature and culture he would never accept. “No killing.”

“Such an act can never be forgiven,” Damian argues. “He death is required. Anything less would be an insult.”

“Your pride is not worth more than a life!”

“Even a ghoulish life?” Jason asks. He hadn’t meant to speak, the words forcing their way out of his mouth without his permission. “You hunt us. You tried to starve Damian. Even now, I see the way you look at me when I’m near Tim, like you think you need to protect him from me. Are you really going to say you value ghoulish life?”

“All life, Jason. All people, whatever their species. We do not kill because death is an end. To hope, to redemption, to any kind of better future!”

“And to be fair, Jay, you do threaten to eat him kind of a lot,” Dick puts in, attempting to lighten the mood.

“It’s not a threat,” Tim says, with a smile like a knife blade, and if the others don’t finish their stupid argument soon Jason is going to shoot Penguin in the head so he can get on with licking the blood from Tim’s cheek.

“Therapy,” Dick says. “As soon as we figure out how to silence Penguin, you are getting all of the therapy little brother.”

“I think I’m probably a lost cause,” Tim says. “Are we killing him or not?”

Bruce turns to look at Tim with a look of absolute horror, and Tim shrugs.

“I cannot allow you, any of you, to kill him,” Bruce insists.

Jason sighs. He recognizes the tone of voice. Arguing now would be worse than useless, and while it’s probable he and Damian between them could take Bruce, they don’t have that kind of time. Tim is still bleeding, and Jason has no real idea what kind of damage is being done every moment they delay, except that it’s probably serious.

He sighs. “Tim is the wounded party here,” he says. “Yes, Dami?”

Damian nods. “Then you know the custom.”

“He is not a ghoul,” Damian says with a frown. “The law does not apply…”

“He’s your brother. He’s shared meat with us.” Dick and Bruce both turn horrified expression on Tim, who smiles faintly. “If the law doesn’t apply to him, then what good is it?”

There’s a long moment of silence, and then Damian scowls. “I dislike it when you’re right.”

“Not sorry. So what do you say, baby bird? Do you want him dead?”

“Not more than I want you and Bruce to be able to work together in the future,” Tim says.

“You sure?”

“Killing him won’t stop the nightmares or grow my eye back,” Tim says.

“I have an idea about that,” Damian says. “And I presume you had the same one.” His eyes flick to the little perspex pot on Tim’s belt.

“It had occurred,” Tim admits. “I have no idea if it’s viable.”

“I will speak to mother,” Damian promises. “Jason, I trust you know what is required?”

“I know the law as well as you, kid,” Jason says, smiling a little at the thought of what he’s about to do. “We had the same teacher, remember? Give her my regards, when you call.”

“Jason,” Bruce says, and as much as Jason tries to pretend he’s moved on, he can’t not react to everything that’s in Bruce’s voice.

“It’s going to be okay, Bruce,” he says, reaching out for the only real father he’s ever had. “Depending on the outcome of Damian’s call, Dick is going to take him and Tim to either the hospital or the cave. I am going to enact the full extent of Raa’s’s law on this pathetic fucker, and you are going to stay here and make sure I don’t step out of line, because there’s nothing you can do for Tim right now except freak him out. Understand?”

Bruce closes his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitches very slightly. “I have missed your common sense, Jason. You have would have solved the Gordian knot in moments.”

“You over complicate everything,” Jason counters, thinking how strangely light the tone is considering they’re dealing with the aftermath of massive trauma. But Tim still isn’t freaking out, though Jason isn’t sure if that’s the lingering effect of the drugs, the endorphins, or the fact that he’s just that screwed up, which is keeping the rest of them calm. "I'm going to find some acid while Damian calls mama."

"Did you ever call her that?" Bruce asks.

"Mom. And only in my own head, and only when I was feeling especially fucked up," Jason says, not entirely sure why he's admitting it.

Bruce nods. "I'm glad you had her then, even if I hate what she did to you."

"Well personally I'm pleased he was able to stick around long enough that I got to meet him," Tim says, with a ghastly horror movie smile. "The acid will be in the small storeroom just off the dining room. If you hurry, there might be time for me to watch before the drugs wear off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Detailed warnings: Two people in his chapter loose eyes - neither incidence is described in graphic detail, but they're not brushed over. Damian is injured pretty bad in this one, but he recovers. Tim is drugged. There's mention of someone having been flayed, and a description of the scars. No one in this chapter except Dick and Bruce have anything like a normal level of empathy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an exam on Tuesday, so guess what that means? It's procrastination through fic time again!
> 
> Warnings: discussions of Talia and Jason's sexual relationship, torture, everyone involved being more than a little traumatised and messed up.

It's ridiculous to be nervous about calling his own mother, but he is.

 

He hasn't spoken to her since they'd made their formal farewells, in Grandfather's office. She had embraced him, wished him safe travels, bade him remember the law, and then turned her whole attention to her work. She had not even watched him leave.

 

In the months since she has not contacted him in any way, and he knows that speaks of her trust in him, her certainty that he can handle any problems without the need for parental intervention. But so much has happened, and she knows none of it. How is he supposed to impress upon her the importance of helping a human when she does not know of the support Tim has provided to him, the brotherhood he has offered without expectation.

 

Worrying is the sign of a weak mind, Grandfather says. Damian swallows back his concerns and dials.

 

He is required to give passphrases to two different underlings before he is connected to mother, and he lets out a relieved breath when she finally answers. It is painfully good to hear her voice again.

 

“My son.”

 

“Hello, mother.”

 

“This is not a social call,” she says, and Damian hears the unspoken ‘because you know me better than that.’

 

“No, mother. I, we, have need of your expertise.”

 

“Indeed?”

 

“Timothy Drake has been injured. We need to know whether it would be possible to do what you did for me, with the eye, for a human.”

 

“We, my son?”

 

“He is my brother,” Damian says, aware that the stiffness in his voice is doing a terrible job of disguising his emotions.

 

“He is a human.”

 

“We share a father, and we have shared meat. He has done everything he could since I arrived at father's house to ease things for me. If he is not my brother, then the term is meaningless.”

 

“Would you have me give him the gift, as I did with Jason?”

 

Damian remembers his fantasy from earlier. Hunting with Drake as a participant rather than chaperone. Sparring without having to worry about hurting his brother. Playing together, the way he used to see the apprentices play.

 

“He would not choose it, and I would not have you do anything he did not choose. Though it would solve the problem of Jason wanting to eat him. Probably.” Jason had never shown any signs of being a cannibal, but he was obsessive enough that Damian wasn't entirely sure his desire to eat Drake would vanish if Drake were no longer human.

 

“You have spent time with Jason?” If he didn't know better, he'd think she sounded eager.

 

“He has been an ally. A friend, perhaps. Mother… Why did you never tell me that you had another son?” Why did you let me be alone he doesn’t say, and he’s not sure if his mother will hear the unspoken words or not. He thinks father would.

 

His mother sighs. “When Jason was with me… He was not ready to be a brother again, not to anyone. I  did not trust him not to hurt you, and I knew that if you knew of his existence, you would have done everything in your power to know him. I did not want to see you hurt, physically or emotionally, by the violence in him. Additionally, he and I were in a sexual relationship, which I wished to keep from you.”

 

Damian sucks in a breath. He had suspected, from things he had heard said both at the Cradle and from father’s family, but it is still a shock to have it confirmed so willingly. It should not be. Mother has always been open with him when she felt she could be.

 

“Did… Did you ever want that with me?” He’s dreading the answer, but he has to ask. Is this why she had sent him away? He is young but tall for his age. He is starting to look more like a teenager than a child. More like Jason must have looked.

 

Mother laughs softly. “Always you ask the questions other people would avoid. No, my son, I have never wanted that from you, and I never shall.”

 

“Then what made Jason so different?”

 

There’s a pause, as she thinks about her answer, and he knows that that means what comes next will either be the absolute truth, or a lie so complete he may never unravel it.

 

“He was my son. I cared for him, protected him, fought for him as I would for you. I defied your grandfather to keep him safe, I used up favours accumulated over many lifetimes. I spent more money on him than I ever have on any other person, and I did it with joy in my heart because it is a good feeling to be able to provide for the ones you love. Still, he was not young when he came to me. He had been a warrior for many years. He came already blooded, by the metrics of his own kind. As such, he was my son, but he was never my child. Can you understand that?”

 

Damian thinks of the way Dick fusses over his younger siblings, even though the age gap is not all that large. Loving, almost parental, but equals in a way that is not possible with father. “I think so. But mother, was?”

 

“I have not spoken to him since he left my care,” she says, and her voice is filled with regret. “He turned away from me, and he did not return.”

 

It strikes Damian suddenly how very ridiculous most humans would find this conversation. The idea that you must climb a mountain, or travel deep into the desert, simply to speak to your parent. “You could have called him. Or written.”

 

His mother makes a thoughtful noise, and Damian is almost certain that this is an entirely new idea to her.

 

“He would like that,” he suggests, feeling a little shy. “He speaks of you fondly.”

 

“I would like that as well,” she says. “And you say Tim Drake is his chosen beloved?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And his feelings are reciprocated?”

 

“I believe so. Drake talks of Jason more often than almost anyone else.”

 

“What an extraordinary boy this human must be, to have won an oath of brotherhood from one of my sons, and stolen the heart of the other. I will help him. I believe it will be possible, though some adjustments may need to be made to the process.”

 

Damian sags with relief. “Thank you,” he says, and then, because sometimes English feels wrong in his mouth, “ شكرًا جزيلاً”

 

“My son, you need only ask.  دائما”

 

* * *

 

 

When Cassandra was a little girl, she had wanted a family desperately. She didn’t know very much about the world outside the rooms where her father kept her, but she’d understood the concepts, understood that in other families there was more than one parent, there could be many children, all learning and training together. Fighting together.

 

She’d dreamt of it. The dreams had been formless, wordless things, too little information for her subconscious to draw clear pictures, but she’d had company. People had talked to her. Smiled at her. Helped her learn instead of hurting her when she made mistakes.

 

By the time her monthly bleeds started (she’d had no way to keep track of her age except for the development of her body) she’d given the dream up. It was a thing for children, and she knew better.

 

There were times, so many times, when her current life seemed like a dream. Like any moment she might wake up back in the training room of her childhood. And yet day after day, Bruce continued to be there, patient and understanding, smiling just for her. And Dick, always happy to teach her and always so gentle, and Alfred who made all the foods she enjoyed and never made her eat things she didn’t, and Tim, who saw her childhood when he looked at her, and never flinched away. And now there was Jason, who made Tim smile and made Bruce uncomfortable in ways she thought were probably good, like the itching of a healing wound. And there was Damian, who read with her, and explained the meaning of words, and never laughed at her for not already knowing. They were her family. The family she’d wanted all her life.

 

The Penguin had tried to take that away.

 

She would not kill him. That was a promise she had made to herself, long before she made it to Bruce, and she would not break it, because then she wouldn’t be herself anymore. She couldn’t kill, and continue to be Cassandra Wayne.

 

Torture is more of what Tim tells her is called a grey area. Bruce does not like it, because it is cruel, even though much of what he does would be classed at torture by the police, or even other vigilantes. Dick does not like it because it goes against the thing that makes him _him_. Tim does not like it because it yields unreliable results.

 

Normally she does not like it because it’s one step too far into the darkness. One step closer to the person her father had wanted her to be. But for the ghoul who tried to take away her family, she is happy to make an exception, especially when it is at Tim’s request.

 

Jason is holding the Penguin down, since he is by far the strongest of them. Dick has gone in search of prisoners, and Bruce is standing half turned away from them, pretending he cannot hear and see what they are doing. Dick had asked him to leave with him, to search for survivors, but Bruce refused.

 

The acid had been found where Tim had said it would be, in a small storage room on the level above. Cassandra is to be the one to pour it, since Tim is trembling from the blood loss and shock, and Damian has withdrawn to speak to his mother.

 

She presses down on the cap, the way Alfred had shown her when she had wanted to open a bottle of painkillers and had been unable to, and feels the thread catch. The thick chemical smell of the acid pervades the air as she unscrews the cap.

 

Penguin is on his knees, Jason crouched behind him and holding him still. As she opens the bottle, Tim drops to one knee beside his former captor and whispers something too quiet for her to hear, something that makes Jason’s eyes gleam red for a moment.

 

“You do not have to do this,” Bruce says suddenly. “There are other ways…”

 

“An eye for an eye Bruce, or else we kill him,” Jason growls. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know the law as well as us.”

 

“It is not law. You can choose not to obey! Ras is a monster but you do not have to be!”

 

Tim mutters something that sounds like “but it’s so fun” and Jason snorts with laughter. It is good to see them happy, but she can see the controlled panic in Jason’s shoulders, the fear in Tim’s hands. She must do this thing quickly so that they can leave this terrible place.

 

She drops the cap on the floor and approaches the man who had tried to destroy her family.

 

“Cassandra,” Bruce says, and there’s so much pain in his voice. “You don’t have to do this.”

 

“Tim’s choice,” she says.

 

“Tim isn’t in his right mind,” Bruce argues. “I don’t know… I don’t know if he ever has been.”

 

“Hey,” Tim says, though he doesn’t sound offended, “remind me which one of us slept with Talia again?”

 

“Me,” Jason says. Bruce makes a noise of distress and Jason snorts. “Don’t act like you’ve cornered the market on mommy issues around here, B.”

 

“You’re all insane,” Penguin says, in tones of rising panic. “You're all fucking insane!”

 

“Did you think humans who fight ghouls without even getting paid for it were going to be sane?” Jason asks. “You ready Cass?”

 

She nods. Her hands are steady, and that feels wrong, but she is what her father made her.

 

Jason switches his grip so that one of his hands is holding Penguin’s chin, tipping his face up her. “Oswald Cobblepot, you stand accused of kidnap and torture. You were caught red-handed. By the law of Ra's Al Ghul and the will of your victim, you are sentenced to like for like.”

 

“This isn’t a fair trial, I haven’t had a chance to defend myself!”

 

Jason’s smile seems somehow more full of teeth than usual. “Sorry, Pengy. You must be thinking of a different law.”

 

Penguin’s screams are nearly enough to cover up the hissing popping sound of his skin melting under the steady stream of acid but nothing can disguise the smell or the sight. She will see this in her dreams for years to come.

 

Bruce has his hands over his eyes, like a child trying to block out the thing that upsets him, but Tim is watching with undisguised interest. He is still weeping blood.

 

Jason is colder, and she thinks that he had meant what he said. That for him this is a just and legal punishment. Not exactly dispassionate, but more like watching a prisoner be lead from the dock than an enemy tortured.

 

She pours until the socket fills up and the acid leaks out to drip a scarlet line down Penguin’s cheek. Jason hisses as it drips onto his hand where he’s still holding Penguin still, but he doesn’t move it.

 

“You will wear the scar for the rest of your life,” Jason says. “Remember it, when you feel like getting some revenge. This is what leniency feels like. Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

 

Cass steps back, carefully screws the lid back on the bottle of acid. Her hands are still steady, but she’s trembling on the inside. She’s never done anything like that, never been involved in violence so cold and measured and premeditated, and it scares her how easily it came to those she loves.

 

“Is it done?” Damian asks, stepping back into the arena, Dick’s cell phone clutched tightly in one hand.

 

“It’s done,” Jason agrees. “What did Talia say?”

 

“She’ll help, but she doesn’t know if it will work.”

 

Tim shrugs. “I’m already down an eye, how much worse can it get? I’m willing to try.”

 

“Alfred can do it,” Bruce says. “With Talia to guide him, he can do it.”

 

Tim nods. He's weak enough from blood loss and shock that the movement makes his whole body sway. “Time to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're on the home stretch now guys, not long left!

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed it (or hated it, or spotted really obvious mistakes, or just want a chat) please please leave me a comment. You can't imagine how important your feedback is to me x
> 
> This world is open to anyone who wants to join me in it. Feel free to take these characters and play around with them, I'd love to see what you created.


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